And The Truth Shall Cage You
by Miss Teinge
Summary: Au after 4th year- similar to Severitus' challenge. Voldemort is dead, but Harry finds his life is anything but improved. A secret is discovered that will throw him into a new life and a new circle of wizarding society.
1. Default Chapter

Harry turned over and blinked at the bleary numbers glaring at him from his bedside. 3:18 am. Brilliant. What he wouldn't give for a descent night's sleep. Since he'd been home, sleep had been a very infrequent visitor. Harry snorted into his pillow. "Home." Right. He'd never thought of the sterile environment of Number 4, Privet Drive as anything even approaching "home", but this summer he'd been forced to accept the fact that, as long as he was a minor, he'd not be able to give that tittle to anywhere more deserving or agreeable.

Glaring into the darkness, Harry emitted a low growl through gritted teeth. This was the reason for his lack of sleep. Try as he might, he simply could not banish the offending thoughts from his mind: he was NEVER getting away from the Dursley's. Harry had been sure...absolutely SURE, that once Voldemort was destroyed there would be no reason for him to stay. Dumbledore had as much as promised him, hadn't he? All of those explanations about the protections of blood magic, and why he had to stay with his pathetic excuse for a family...surely there was no need now that Voldemort was no longer a threat?

This had been the glorious, wonderful thought that had allowed him to summon his astonishingly powerful patronus in the final battle, clearing a path for he and the others to get to Voldemort.

The attack had been entirely unexpected. Nobody had given any thought to the possibility that Voldemort would be able to mobilize so quickly; mere weeks after Harry had completed the third task, as the slightly battered champion and the rest of the students noisily boarded the Hogwarts' Express, the unthinkable had happened. Dozens of loud pops, drowned out easily by the busy chatter of hundreds of excited children, had heralded the arrival of a formidable army of Death Eaters.

It had taken a few moments for it to register with the students what was happening; most, after all, had no idea what a Death Eater looked like. The realization, however, wasn't long in coming for Harry. One moment he'd been listening half-heartedly to Hermione recount something or other about one of her exams, and the next he was lying on the platform, screaming and clutching at his forehead, where his scar threatened to burn a hole in his scull. After seeing his reaction, it was made abruptly clear to the others exactly what the situation was. Screams filled the air, and panicking children scattered, some scrambling to board the train, others abandoning trunks and posessions to flee in the direction of Hogwarts. The Death Eaters Made short work of stopping them, using all manner of curses, completely uncaring that their victims were as young as eleven years old.

Harry, for his part, dove behind a substantial pile of luggage, dragging Ron and Hermione with him.

"Oh God, Harry! He's...He's not here, is He?" Hermione stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. Ron stayed silent, but looked at Harry with the same panicked, disbelieving look on his face.

Before he could either confirm or deny their fears, a high, unnatural voice rang out in the air, effectively silencing the entire platform, freezing every single person in terror.

"HARRY POTTER!" the voice rang out, that eerily high voice turning the words to ice, hanging in the air.

"Potter," he called again, "Potter, I know you're there! Why don't you come and play, little one?"

At this the robed Death Eaters snickered, but kept their wands trained on the quivering and sobbing children.

Behind the wall of trunks, Harry looked around desperately for aid. From his vantage point his field of vision was limited, and what little he could see was disheartening. The three faculty members that had accompanied the students, Professors Sprout, Vector and McGonnogal, lay unmoving, guarded by Death Eaters. Harry couldn't tell whether or not they were breathing, but he could tell that he would find no help there. The students he could see looked no more promising; even the older students looked about to pass out from fright, and one little second year looked to have wet himself.

"Dumbledore, please help," Harry whispered frantically to himself, "Please, Dumbledore, Sirius, anybody, PLEASE!"

"Harry?" Whispered Ron, a shocked look on his face, "Harry, you...you're going to do something, right?" Ron's eyes locked onto Harry's. Realization swept through Harry's mind. They expected HIM to take care of this. Harry looked open-mouthed at Ron, then over to Hermione.

"Harry? Please, Harry..." was all she could say.

It was all too much. His friends, who had been with him during some of his darkest times, who knew just how hard on him it had all been, now expected him to step in and single-handedly destroy not only the most powerful dark wizard of all time, but dozens of his minions as well? He heard a muffled whimper, and looked behind him. Huddling beneath the train was a group of students, and every one of them had their eyes fixed on one person and one person only-him.

Harry's shock was soon replaced with anger, and then resignation. Fine, he thought, if this is the way it has to be, so be it.

With grim determination he set his jaw and turned back to his friends.

"Ron, I need you to stay here with me. Hermione, I need you to help get word to Dumbledore and the Ministry aurors. If they haven't shown up yet, Voldemort must have done something to keep from being detected. Dumbledore at least should've been able to feel him. We NEED to get help Hermoine, do you understand?"

Here Harry shook Hermione slightly, forcing her to gather her wits and calm a bit. At her hesitant nod, he continued,

"Okay...I need you to get inside the train-you're going to have to crawl underneath and board from the other side-and try to organize the students. Get anybody, EVERYBODY, who has an owl to write messages to either Dumbledore or the Ministry, and any other adult wizard you know we can trust. Sirius, Remus, Ron's dad, anybody. Get them all ready, and release them all at the same time. Hopefully the D.E.'s won't be able to hit them all and a message will get through. It might also be just the distraction we need. Now go!"

Hermione, though still looking rather faint, gathered herself together and turned towards the train, stopping to grab Harry, then Ron into a quick, ferocious hug.

"I'll see you both soon," she whispered fiercely. With a suddenly determined look, she disappeared underneath the train.

Harry only had time for a pained look at Ron before he heard a loud blast, accompanied by a flash of scarlet light. Renewed screams were silenced when Voldemort's voice again screeched through the silence.

"I do not appreciate being ignored, you impertinent child! Show yourself, or the next thing I point my wand at will be made of flesh, not stone."

Harry twitched, half-rising from his crouched position, before Ron pulled him down roughly, hissing,

"Are you crazy? You CAN'T go out there yourself! He'd have you dead before you'd drawn your wand!"

"Well then I'll just have to make sure I draw it BEFORE I go out there, won't I?" Harry said with a glare.

"This is NOT the time for jokes or your Merlin-be-damned heroics, Harry! Wait until help arrives!"

Harry jerked his arm out of Ron's grasp and half-snarled,

"You were more than ready to let me handle this solo a few minutes ago, weren't you? You and Hermione both, with your 'Harry, oh, Harry, do something, please, Harry...' You all want me to solve your bloody problems, so I'm going to. It's all well and good for you two to stick by me when there's no REAL chance you're going to get hurt, but faced with the big bad, that's out the window, isn't it?"

By the stricken look on his best friend's face, Harry knew he'd gone too far. Ron's face quickly changed to a deep, angry red and he hissed,

"Gee, I'm sorry, MATE, but not ALL of us have the ability to keep our wits about us in the company of You-Know-Fucking-Who, now do we? We haven't ALL had the pleasure of his company as often as you, remember? So EXCUSE me for being a little shaken when an evil madman and his pack of psychotic attack dogs suddenly apparates onto the train platform, but you going out there isn't going to accomplish ANYTHING. And as for us never sticking with you through any REAL danger, I think you need to think long and really FUCKING hard about all we've been through these last few years before you commit to that statement."

Harry grasped his seething friend by the shoulder and leaned forward until their foreheads pressed together. He clapped the back of Ron's neck and squeezed firmly. Ron did the same to him, shifting his grip to his shoulders. Harry closed his eyes and drew a shaking breath, attempting to draw strength from his friend, knowing Ron was doing the same.

"You're right," he whispered, in the same suddenly fierce, determined tone that Hermione had used earlier. "You HAVE been there, through everything that you could be there for. I'd be lost without you, Ron, Hermione too. But I have to do this."

As Ron started to protest, Harry shook his head and continued, "If I don't go out there, Voldemort's going to start offing kids left and right. How many will be lost in the time it takes help to get here? That is if they don't just find me before then and drag me out. Either way, people are going to die because I'm too afraid to face him."

Harry frowned. His comments had brought up a good point: why hadn't Voldemort simply ordered his Death Eaters to search the platform for him? Harry suspected it was for the very reason he had just explained to Ron. Voldemort would expect him to feel responsible for the children on the platform and come out on his own. And if he had to kill a few mud-bloods to get his point across, that was simply an added bonus. An appetizer before the main course came crawling to him, begging for his life. Bastard.

Ron, however, was not convinced by Harry's arguments. "Harry, that is ridiculous! Do you think for a second that once he has you he's not going to let the Death Eaters "celebrate" a bit? Any Muggle-Born out there is as good as dead the second you're beaten! And as much as I respect your abilities, mate, I don't like the odds of you against the army out there."

Harry sat back on his heels and buried his head in his hands. When he spoke, his voice came out choked and muffled,

"I know, Ron, but I don't understand. You don't know what they can do! You felt...you haven't HEARD..."

Right on cue, an anguished scream ripped through the air. Ron had to forcibly restrain Harry as he lunged towards the sound. The wail finally quieted to audible sobs and whimpers, and then Voldemort spoke,

"I'm getting bored, Potter, and I am quickly losing my sense of humour. I may very soon become cranky. On the other hand, I have so MANY toys to play with...this one seems to be broken. The little ones never last long." The Death Eaters snickered again, clearly pleased by their master's wit.

"Ah, yes," he continued, "and I cannot forget my loyal servants. They have been denied the pleasures of the...flesh...for so long now. If you keep us waiting for too long, I will have to give them leave to play for a while. Honestly, Potter, I would have thought..."

"Harry!" called a voice from somewhere to his right, "Harry, stay where you are, for Merlin's sake, don't..."

"SILENCIO!!" roared Voldemort.

Harry, who had been gripping his face in his hands, attempting to block out the taunts of the madman, snapped his head up at the sound of the pleading voice. Professor McGonogall! If she was alive, perhaps the other professors were as well! Before he could think beyond that, Voldemort again spoke.

"Ah, did you recognize the voice of your dear teacher, Potter? She seems to have awoken from her little nap. Yes, I do know who she is...I've been very well informed of everything concerning you, boy. Your head of house, I believe? And very close to Dumbledore, I believe. Speaking of the senile old coot, I wonder where he could be? I believe this is the point where he usually comes riding in, just in time to save your worthless little hide. But where could he be? Maybe if I call him..."

At this, Voldemort proceeded to call and whistle, as if calling a dog, eliciting still more sniggers from the dark robed men. After a few minutes during which Harry fought to keep tears of despair from squeezing from his eyes, the mocking voice stopped.

"Huh. It would appear that no help is coming this time. No Dumbledore, no overgrown parrot, and thanks to certain precautions I've taken recently, no dead parents. That's right, Potter. This time it's just between you and me. Oh, yes, a score or two of my loyal followers. So it's your choice, boy. You can come now, and settle this with me, or I can tear the limbs off of a few mudblood whelps and THEN we can settle this."

Ron was now pinning Harry to the ground, clamping his mouth shut to keep him from calling out, from giving Voldemort what he wanted.

Voldemort waited a few moments, the sound of his foot tapping the paving stones, before he heaved an exaggerated sigh, and said,

"Alright. Fine. We'll do this the hard way, since you insist...I HOPE YOU"RE ALL PAYING ATTENTION," he yelled suddenly, "BECAUSE THIS ON THIS DAY YOUR GOLDEN HERO OF THE LIGHT DID _NOTHING_ TO HELP YOU! I've changed my mind, Potter, I'll save the children for later. I'd rather start small and work up...perhaps I'll start with a little TABBY...CRUCIO!"

Evidently the "silencio" had worn off, because the screams that were ripped from the throat of the usually composed woman drilled into Harry's ears, and even Ron's considerable strength could no longer hold him down. Shoving his friend off and scrambling to his feet in one motion, Harry ran from behind the luggage, wand drawn, a curse already forming on his lips, and was immediately hit with a shouted, "EXPELLIARMUS!" from a masked Death Eater. Wandless, he had no defense against numerous curses that shot at him from ever direction. Among those that hit their mark was the Full Body Bind that caused him to fall, stiff as a board, onto the platform. Despite the intense pain he was in, Harry felt a rush of relief wash over him when he heard the curse on McGonnogal lifted. His relief was short lived, however, as he felt himself be lifted in the air and turned to face Voldemort.

"Well, hello there young man," Voldemort said in a mocking jovial tone, "I see you've decided to join us. I said at our last meeting that you had no manners...perhaps you've learned a bit since then? No, I suppose not. Though it's not entirely your fault, of course...I can't expect one raised amongst animals to act as anything but, can I? Your father, though a Muggle-loving fool, was at least a Pureblood. He would be disgusted to see you now...cowering behind boxes like filth, too afraid to face your enemy like a man. You'd even disgust your filthy Mudblood mother, with whatever tiny inkling of the concept of honour her primitive, animalistic mind could grasp."

Voldemort watched Harry struggle against the Body Bind, his face livid, and with a flick of his wrist freed his head, allowing him to talk.

"Honour," Harry spat, "you speak of honour? You, with forty full-grown, fully trained wizards waiting to do your bidding? If it were just you and me, TOM, I'd beat you just like every other time before! The truth is, TOM, YOU'RE the one that's disgusting. I don't see you facing your enemies as a man! If you were, you'd be at the gates of Hogwarts, alone, calling for Dumbledore to come and turn your disgusting hide into mincemeat, and send you to hell to visit your whore of a mother and your MUGGLE father!"

Apparently, he'd hit a nerve. The curse that tore through his body was strong enough to break through the Body Bind, and he dropped to the ground, screaming with convulsions so strong his joints threatened to rip apart. The Death Eaters shifted gleefully towards their Lord and his victim, their attention so firmly held that they failed to notice the red haired boy creeping silently along the train tracks, away from the gathered Death Eaters, towards the three professors lying prone on the platform.

It had taken all of Ron's limited willpower and strength to keep himself from following Harry into the fray, but once he had heard Harry get hit, he knew anything he could do would be useless. As the Dark Lord renewed his taunts, Ron tore at his hair, mentally yelling at himself to think of something, anything to do. He chanced a glance through the trunks, and noticed that, as Harry threw back his own insults, the Death Eaters were starting to turn their attention towards the conflict between the irate young boy and the Dark Lord, who was slowly starting to boil with rage. Ron had only enough time for a whispered, "All right Harry!" before he heard the angry, "CRUCIO" , followed by his friend's screams. Fighting his fairly suicidal urge to throw himself bodily at the Dark Lord, Ron quickly scanned the area he could see. The Death Eaters were now actually moving away from their posts, abandoning their charges in order to get a better view of the torture. Seeing his chance, Ron drew a breath and did an incredibly risky, but incredibly brave thing. Keeping low to the ground, he shimmied backwards and to the right until he dropped into the groove that the platform that held the track. It was not very deep, but if he stayed on his knees and elbows he was hidden to anyone who wasn't watching for him, and the Death Eaters, in their sick enthrallment, were watching anything but the train tracks.

Shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, Ron crept along the tracks for several meters before he chanced a glance over the rim of the groove. Yes! He was sufficiently behind the Death Eaters that he would not be seen unless one looked directly behind him. Ron slipped onto the platform and, staying low, crept soundlessly towards his professors. Pausing for a moment to consider, Ron pulled his wand out of his robes and, pointing it at Professor McGonnogal, whispered, "Mobilicorpus", moving her father away from her guards, who had already drifted more than two meters away from their charges. Ron repeated the process with Sprout and Vector, then placed his hand firmly on McGonnogal's mouth and muttered, "Ennervate."

McGonnogal's eyes flew open and she started to fight, but Ron threw his weight on top of her and hissed at her to stay silent. Slowly, she nodded, and Ron removed his hand.

"Professor. You need to go get help! Apparate to the Ministry and get the aurors. Sprout or Vector can get Dumbledore."

The professor widened her eyes, then shook her head violently.

"I can't leave you students here unprotected!"

"Professor," Ron whispered, cutting her off, "you three can't beat forty Death Eaters and You-Know...that almighty ASShole. Our only chance is to get help. We're trying to get owls off, but Hermione hasn't managed it yet and none of us can apparate. Please, you need to do this! He's already tortured another student besides Harry. Please, Professor!"

The stern professor looked suddenly very weak, reminding Ron that she had very recently been subjected to a very strong Cruciatus curse.

"Professor, Merlin, I should've thought...are you alright? Are you strong enough to apparate?" Ron's confidence was shaken by the sudden lack of strength in his usually stalwart professor.

Seeing the change in Ron's face and not liking what she knew it meant, McGonnogal gave her student a stern look and said, in what she hoped was a firm, business-like tone,

"Of course I can apparate! Don't be ridiculous! However, I disagree with your plan. I will apparate to the ministry and floo Albus from there. That way the other two can stay to help you, if they are in any condition to fight when they awaken." She finished with her usual, "don't even think about disagreeing with me, because I have made up my mind, put my foot down AND laid down the law, thank you very much" glare, at which Ron couldn't help but give a small, twisted smile.

"Okay professor. Whatever you say. But hurry back, okay? I'm afraid for Harry."

The screams had stopped and Voldemort was now doing something that, though Ron couldn't see it, he was sure was not pleasant as the Death Eaters seemed even more excited.

McGonnogal took one sickly, worried look in the direction that Harry lay, then turned to Ron. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it quickly and fiercely. Then, with a murmured promise to return, she winked out of existence and Ron was again left alone. Checking to see that the black-clad figures were still occupied, Ron turned his attention to the two professors before him.

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath when she heard another scream rip through the air. The first had rung out shortly after she had left Harry and Ron, before she had managed to enter the train. That scream had almost finished her, but she managed to pull herself together enough to creep up to a door and gain entrance to a compartment. To her surprise and, strangely, her relief, she had to dodge a hex that flew at her face the moment she opened the door. "At least some of them have their wits about them", she thought.

"Hey! I'm a student! I'm Hermione Granger, please let me in," she called through the door in a low voice.

"Hermoine?" called out a familiar voice. Seconds later the door was wrenched open and the flushed faces of Fred and George Weasley popped into view. "Bloody Hell Hermione! Thank god!" They pulled her into the train and into twin hugs.

"Are you okay? Were you with Ron? We can't find him or Ginny! Did you see either of them? Oh, Merlin, I can't think..."

Hermione pulled, albeit a little reluctantly, away from the strong embrace of the twins.

"I'm fine, really. And I just left Ron, he's with Harry. I didn't see Ginny, but I'm sure she's fine."

"We heard a scream but we didn't see..." George finished, letting the unspoken question hang in the air.

Hermione sent him a tearful look and shook her head.

"Sorry, but I couldn't see anything from where I was. There are a lot of students still out there though, and no sign of help yet. Harry wants us to send for some."

"He has a plan then?"

Hermione turned towards the voice and for the first time realized they weren't alone in the compartment. Scanning the faces for ones she knew, She was relieved and saddened at the same time. She picked out, among others, Dean Thomas, Pavarti Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchy, Dennis Creevy and various others she recognized as being from other houses and years. That she saw Dennis without Colin worried her. Dennis caught her gaze when it lingered a moment on his face, and he sent her a hopeful look. She shook her head, and his shoulders slumped visibly.

"Hermione?" asked Dean, who had spoken before, "What's the plan?"

"Oh, yes...he wants everyone to write S.O.S. notes to the Ministry and Dumbledore by owl," she stated simply.

She was answered with silence. Everyone in the compartment send her identical blank, disbelieving looks.

"OWLS?" exclaimed Justin Finch-Fletchy, "his great plan is for us to send letters with OWLS!?? How the bloody hell is that supposed to help us?"

Hermione bristled at his derisive tone, and sent him a death glare.

"Yes, JUSTIN. That IS the plan. That is the plan because unless anyone on this train knows how to illegally apparate," here she looked at the Weasley twins, who shook their heads in unison, "we have no way of calling for help. Voldemort must have blocked Dumbledore from sensing him somehow, otherwise he'd be here by now. Our only hope is that one of the owls gets through with a message."

"Okay, I see that," said Fred, "but the D.E.'s are just going to shoot them out of the sky one by one like skeet. I mean, I guess we can try, but I don't really hold a lot of faith in the plan. Merlin bless Harry, but I just don't think it's going to work."

Hermione rounded on him, her brown eyes flashing.

"Well, I suppose we COULD just sit here like nice little boys and girls and patiently wait our turns to get tortured and murdered, if you'd rather...No? I thought not. So If we're ready to at least TRY..."

Her words were cut off as a blood-curdling scream tore through the air. This one sounded like it belonged to someone older, but the train walls muffed it enough that it was impossible to tell beyond that. Hermione shivered. Raising her voice so it could be heard above the screams, trying desperately to keep her voice from breaking, she continued giving instructions.

"Okay. Everyone with an owl needs to write letters saying, 'Death Eaters at Hogsmeade station with Voldemort. Students are alone. For the love of Merlin this is NOT A JOKE! Please help, they are using CRUCIO.' Here...get me a quill. I'll write it and we can just copy charm it. We need them to believe we're not pranking. Make sure the letters to the ministry are sent to the Auror's Department, NOT to Fudge. He won't believe it if he gets a hundred owls all saying the same thing, the daft bastard. About half the letters should go to Dumbledore, and some to Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley...Fred, George, you take care of that. He'll believe you for sure, and he'll make sure help gets sent. I know the rest of you are going to want to send owls to your parents as well but it's really important that we get the messages to people with experience fighting dark wizards." She finished, short for breath, and looked around as if looking for a challenge. She met none.

As the others nodded and moved with their now copied notes to spread the news and execute the plan, she had another thought,

"Oh, yes. In order to assure that as many of the owls get through as possible, we have to let them all go at the same time. That way, they'll also serve as a distraction that might help the people outside. Fasten those notes to as many owls as you can and let them loose in exactly...five minutes. Now go!"

The screams had stopped, but Hermione wasn't fool enough to think that whatever was going on outside had stopped. She rushed out of the compartment door with the others and ran off in search of owls.

It was less than a minute later when Hermione heard the scream. If the others had chilled her, this one froze her solid. She knew that scream. That awful sound was being ripped from the soul of one of her two best friends in the entire world. "Harry, oh, God!" She thought, panicking. He had Harry! And if he'd found Harry, he'd probably found Ron as well. She grabbed the window frame to support herself as a wave of nausea hit her. Voldemort wouldn't even pause to blast Ron into oblivion on his way to get to Harry. Oh, God! Struggling against her grief and terror, Hermione forced herself to continue with her self-appointed task. A renewed look of determination on her face, she returned to wresting an owl cage away from a distraught first year, and in her frustration blasted the child with an itching hex to get her to relinquish her hold.

Finally, the allotted time had passed and Hermione herself had manages to attach notes to eleven owls, and was ready to let them loose. She could only hope that the others had fared as well...hopefully some had fared better. As she prepared her final owl, she noticed that the screaming had stopped. It had gone on for so long that she had become accustomed to it. Shivering at the thought, she pointed her wand at the throat and whispered, "Sonorus," before flinging her window open and yelling,

"NOW!!"

It took Harry a few moments to realize that the curse was no longer upon him. The pain still rolled through him in violent waves that sent his body into shuddering convulsions. He had been held under the Cruciatus curse, cast by a VERY angry Dark Lord, for almost five minutes. He lay on the platform, curled in a fetal position, gasping for breath. His face was pressed into the flagstone, breathing in the dust that lay between the cracks.

He heard approaching footsteps, and his fingers clutched weakly at the cold stones, desperate for something to hold onto, something to give him at least an illusion of strength. The footsteps stopped, and he heard the rustle of robes that announced someone crouching down beside him. Something cool and hard was laid lightly against his throat, and Harry flinched away from the unwelcome sensation. A soft chuckle came close to his face. Cold, sour breath puffed into the air above his face.

"Do you know what this is, Potter, that I'm resting against your neck? Well, you probably wouldn't. Dear old Dumbledore does like his student stupid, after all. This, my boy, is a Ghol Knife. Fascinating things, these. Can you guess what it does?" he paused, as if waiting for an answer. When nothing was heard from Harry but more laboured breathing, Voldemort turned to his followers and said,

"Oh, dear. It seems the poor child is all tired out. Well, he won't be tired for long." He said with a smile, eliciting more laughter from the Death Eaters.

"You see, Potter, Ghol Knives are very special, and very rare. They are made by Dementors, or at least what Dementors WERE before they became Dementors. The History is very long and frankly I doubt you'd be very interested, but I'll give you an abridged version of it. Centuries ago the beings that we know as Dementors were a race very much akin to Vampires, but unlike their blood-sucking cousins, the Agholyths did not drink blood. As even your slow little mind might have guessed, they existed by siphoning the souls from their victims. They did not drain the soul completely as they do now when administering the Kiss, but only enough for a meal. Perhaps six-seven hundred years ago they were approached by the head of a clan of dark wizards who wished to harness their power, thinking correctly that it would be a powerful weapon. The Agholyths agreed, and in exchange for a sacrifice of humans on which to feed every year, they created five knives: the Ghol.

Now. Everything went a planned for many years. The wizards used their new weapons to dominate their part of the world, striking fear into the hearts of wizard and Muggle alike, and they remembered their duty, delivering the sacrifice every year. This went on for the entire time that the original wizard was head of the clan. When his son succeeded him, however, he felt that it was no longer necessary to pay the sacrifice, and he refused. The creatures approached them, thinking that perhaps there had been a mistake. The new chief informed them that there had been no mistake. He refused to pay, saying that the debt had been settled. When they pressed the issue, the Agholyths were threatened with the Ghol knives. They were enraged. That night, as the wizards slept after a night of reveling, the Agholyths attacked. They completely overwhelmed their opponents, and in their rage did what they had never done before; they drained their victims of their souls completely, leaving them empty shells. Only after they had dispatched of the entire clan did they realize their mistake. Because of their countless evil deeds, the wizards' souls were tainted, so badly in fact that as they nourished the Agholyths' bodies they slowly poisoned them. In the end they became what they are now: Dementors. Soul-less, lifeless beings that seek happiness to heal them of the damage they inflicted upon themselves, eating them away from the inside out.

Voldemort paused, a little over-dramatically in Harry's opinion, examining the blade and twirling it slowly between his fingers. Harry was able to catch only a glimpse of it, but he didn't like what he saw; a thin, ten centimeter blade, made of some dark gray metal, etched with curious designs. Harry was jerked away from his observations when Voldemort again launched into a lecturing tone.

"The five knives were not seen for centuries, and they are still not all found. But I have one, as you can see. Now, Potter, do you know what this wonderful little toy does? I told you before that it contains the powers of the Dementors...three guesses as to what I meant by that, boy. Yes, this blade, with a single prick, can draw the soul out of the victim, performing exactly the same function as the Dementor's Kiss. So I should move very carefully from now on if I were you, boy. One prick from this blade and your soul will be no more."

Harry, still hurting but slightly recovered, had used Voldemort's speech to have a proper look at his surroundings. Death Eaters were everywhere, seeming to close in. Around them, clusters of terrified students crouched on the ground, most either looking at Harry in panic or hiding their faces in their arms. And there, about a meter and a half away, lay his wand. Nobody had picked it up! When Harry noticed that Voldemort was no longer talking, he looked at him and said,

"For someone with such a girly voice, you sure do like to hear yourself talk, don't you?"

Enraged at the lack of fear Harry showed, Voldemort pulled back the knife with a shriek of rage, preparing to strike. The sudden movement compromised his balance, and Harry used this to his advantage. In one movement he pushed away from Voldemort, knocking him back, and rolled away, calling, "ACCACIO WAND!"

At that moment, all hell broke loose. A flurry of activity attracted everybody's attention as scores of owls burst from the train. Confused and startled, the Death Eaters did nothing, until Voldemort shrieked,

"Shoot them down, you fools!"

Those few moment of hesitation were all that were needed, however, to allow a few of the birds to get out of range and for Harry to get his wand. He had no time to think what to do next before he heard a loud "pop" beside him and he found himself face to face with the man he most wanted to see most in the world.

"Hiya Harry!"

"S-Sirius?" he stammered in shock.

Sirius only had time for a quick, "Watch your back, son!" and a grin before he shoved Harry out of the way and shot a curse at a Death Eater. Harry immediately followed his godfather's example, blasting and dodging hexes in earnest. The train platform had turned into a battle ground, as more and wore wizards popped into view. Harry couldn't fathom how the messages had managed to reach help so quickly, and frankly he didn't care. They were going to finish this once and for all, and when it was all over, Harry really _would _be Sirius' son. _Nobody, _not even Voldemort, was going to ruin that.


	2. ch 2

As it turned out, Voldemort didn't need to do anything to destroy Harry's hopes. Dumbledore did that quite well without any assistance whatsoever.

Harry buried his face in his pillow to muffle his groan. Try as he might, he just couldn't clear his mind enough for sleep. The memories refused to give him any respite. Images of the battle flashed through his mind; he saw the faces of his friends, Sirius, Remus, Voldemort, Dumbledore...Dumbledore. A sneer tugged at Harry's upper lip at the name. Their last conversation, after the conclusion to the battle, Harry was sure he'd never forget.

"Harry," the old man said, his hand firmly gripping Harry's shoulder, "You can't begin to know how very proud I am of you!"

"We all are, son," put in Sirius, who was grinning at him from beneath his heavily bandaged brow.

Remus, who sat beside him nursing his own assorted wounds, smiled and nodded his acquiescence.

"You were so brave, doing what you did. And I must tell you, Harry, I have never seen anybody act so coolly when confronted by Dementors."

Harry's smile, which had been threatening to stretch all the way around his head at the praise, suddenly faltered. The dementors.

The fighting had barely begun when Harry had first felt the familiar feeling of bone-chilling dread. In the next moment the fighting crowd on the platform turned almost as one to stare in terror at the cloud of figures moving toward them, almost blacking out the sun.

"M-Merlin," gasped Sirius, his face ashen, "I've never seen so many, not even in..."

He didn't finish, but there was no need. Every Dementor in Britain and beyond seemed to be flocking their way.

"Dumbledore was right," exclaimed Sirius, "They've turned on us."

Harry nodded numbly. The familiar terror was building up inside him. 'Mom...Dad...Cedric...' he thought. Soon the screaming would start; oh God, he couldn't take that, not now! It was too soon, the memories too fresh. He doubted he'd be able to manage conjuring a patronus, and even if he could, what could it possibly do against so many? At any rate, there was no way they'd be able to defeat both the Dementors and the Death Eaters at the same time.

Harry then noticed something odd. The Death Eaters were staring at the approaching Dementors not with triumph, but with the same abject terror as everyone else. Harry looked wildly around for Voldemort. He was standing, wand in one hand, Ghol knife in the other, staring at the creatures in absolute confusion. The expression on his face, in a different situation, would have been almost comical. Fear and utter bewilderment played across the bone-white, serpentine face, and the blood-red eyes showed absolute shock.

Harry had time for no more observation as, as if released from a trance, the people on the platform exploded in panic.

The screams of children and adults, Light and Dark alike, were joined a split second later by echoes of screaming voices in Harry's mind he'd hoped he'd never hear again. Sirius, seeing his Godson's distress, grabbed him by the arm and shook him.

"Come on Harry, come on son, fight it, come on!"

The Dementors were among them, gliding in packs around the platform. Harry opened his eyes and tried to focus his gaze on Sirius. He'd called him "son!" Again! Then it was true! Sirius loved him, and he'd called him SON! He was going to have a family, a real one at last! After everyone had seen Sirius fighting against the Death Eaters, there could be no question as to his loyalty! All at once, Harry felt the oppressive weight of all his worst nightmares lift, and he was left with that one glorious thought-that one glorious _word-SON!_

Harry shook his head and looked toward Voldemort once again. He could no longer see him; a mass of dark figures blocked his way, making a protective shield between him and their master.

"Your bodyguards won't save you, Tom," snarled Harry, as he snatched Sirius's wand out of his hand and replaced it with his own.

Sirius blinked a few times at the wand that now lay in his hand, completely clueless about what was going on, but did not attempt to question Harry.

Summoning all his joy, all his strength, Harry pointed the wand directly into the crowd of Dementors, and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A blinding white light shot out of his wand, which again took the form of a brilliant white stag, only this time it was as if light had been made flesh; a majestic, gigantic beast which radiated pure white light.

Sirius gasped. "Prongs," he whispered, as the patronus blazed a trail through the Dementors. As more and more of the creatures were driven away, cringing from the light of the glowing stag, Harry noticed something odd. The Demntors all had their backs to him, facing the centre of the giant ring they had made around...Voldemort. The bodies of dozens of his followers lay at his feet, and the last few were struggling against their assailants. Voldemort himself seemed to have lost his wand, and was slashing wildly in the air with the Ghol knife. The enraged Dementors were struggling desperately against the shield cast by the Patronus. Harry realized with a shock that the Dementors weren't protecting Voldemort, they were attacking him. His confusion ended when he heard Siruis, in a shaky voice, whisper,

"Is...is that a Ghol knife? Dear God!"

Harry remembered what Voldemort had told him earlier, while tormenting him with the knife. He'd made it sound as if the worst thing one could possibly do was to threaten a Dementor with a Ghol knife. Voldemort seemed to have realized his mistake as well, but there was nothing he could do. Noticing the break in attacking circle, he looked wild-eyed at Harry, fear and desperation in his eyes.

"Please," he mouthed. "Please!"

Harry stared at him for a few moments, his eyes never leaving his enemy's, then whispered two words.

"Finite Incantatem."

The scream that was ripped from Voldemort's throat almost made harry drop his wand as he covered his ears. It lasted only a few seconds, as the tide of black forms rushed in on him, and he was silenced, forever.

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry jerked in his seat and turned his focus to Dumbeldore, who was regarding him in mild amusement and concern.

"Where were you?" the old man asked. "You looked a million miles away."

Harry smiled slightly and shrugged. "Sorry. I was just thinking about...about before. The Dementors and everything." He sighed and looked down, running his hand through his hair. "You really don't have to be proud of me..._I _didn't actually do anything. Really, all I did was interrupt the Dementors for a few moments."

The adults in the room exchanged glances beneath raised eyebrows.

"I don't think you understand, Harry," said Remus Lupin, speaking up for the first time, "Your Patronus, whether it was a factor in destroying Voldemort or not, was an extremely powerful piece of magic. Even more so than the one you produced last year, and..." here he offered a wink, "that's saying something. The point is, you were able to stay focused in the face of incredible danger, and _that _is why we are so proud of you."

Harry felt his face reddening, and quickly looked down to hide his pleasure at the praise. Keeping his eyes carefully on his shoes, he said,

"If that's the case, Sirius really deserves as much credit as I do." He glanced shyly at his godfather, who was looking confused.

"Oh, really," said a voice from the corner, "And what, exactly, did wonder pooch contribute to the situation? Gave the Dementors severe flea-irritation, did he?"

Sirius whipped around and shot a glare at the man who stood cloaked in shadows by the door. "Didn't here _you_ come in, Snivellus. Got your cloak and mask all stowed away, have you?"

Snape sneered, and made to reply, but was cut off my Dumbledore, who said in a stern voice,

"Severus was with me when I received the floo message from Minerva, Sirius, and fought bravely once we arrived at the platform. Now, if you two could perhaps realize for the next few moments that the world does not, in fact, revolve around your petty disputes, I would be happy to set up a dueling platform for you as soon as Harry has finished talking. I'd be happy to officiate. Believe me. " He fixed each man with an equally stern look, then turned to Harry. "Now, Harry. What was this about Sirius?"

Harry glanced at the glowering men, nervously rubbing his palms on his robes.

"Well, what I meant was...I meant I couldn't have made the Patronus without Sirius there. There with me, I mean. Beside me...and after what...what he said to me. " He looked at Sirius and swallowed. His throat had become suddenly very dry.

Sirius had stopped glowering and was again looking confused.

"What I said? I don't know what you mean. You didn't seem like you needed any advice, Harry."

Harry shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. This was getting rather embarrassing.

"No, I meant before, when you showed up on the platform, and again later. You said...you called me..." Harry stopped and tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. Maybe Sirius didn't even remember calling him that. Or maybe he just meant it in a really casual way, like if he'd called him "Buddy" or "Sport." He looked again at his godfather's concerned face, and whispered, "You called me 'son'."

Sirius' eyes widened and he seemed glued to his chair.

"So, that's what you were thinking when you..." he whispered, tear-blurred eyes never leaving his godson.

"Yeah," was all Harry managed to croak out before he was crushed into an embrace by Sirius.

They said nothing to each other, and the others in the room seemed to understand their need for silence. All except Snape, who muttered something that sounded like, "Oh, please! For the love of..." before he was silenced by a well-thrown pillow from Remus.

When Harry and Sirius finally managed to extricate themselves, room was made for them to sit together a couch, where they leaned against each other, as if each afraid the other would disappear.

"Well then," said Dumbledore, breaking the silence, "Now that we have that cleared up, back to the matter at hand. Does anyone have any questions about what transpired on the train platform?"

Harry sat up straighter, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I have one, professor," he said, frowning slightly, "I understand why the Dementors attacked Tom-he used the Ghol Knife against them-but why did they show up at the platform in the first place? I saw the look on Tom's face when the Dementors appeared, and he was as surprised as anybody."

Dumbledore gave one of his usual twinkly-eyed smiles. "You always _do _ask the good questions, don't you Harry? The answer is fairly simple, one that Voldemort, or Tom, as you like to call him," he said with a wry smile, "seemed to have forgotten. There is a reason for which the Ghol knives are best left un-found. Dementors, like many other Dark Creatures, have the ability to sense others of their kind, and often to identify the individual. When Voldemort used the knife, they recognized its power for the object that caused them to become what they are today, and all of that anger and hatred caused by the original betrayal that sealed their fate was called up. A fate which we, in our foolishness, have perpetuated."

Harry frowned, "What do you mean, Professor? What have _we_ done?"

"When Azkaban was first built, many hundreds of years ago, the then Minister of Magic recognized the value of the Dementors' powers and how they might be used to our benefit. It was, politically, an intelligent move on his part; it provided fail-proof security and at the same time isolated the Dementors from the rest of the Wizarding world."

"Makes sense," commented Sirius, nodding, "The Dementors basically had an "all-you-can-eat buffet" of bad guys, so there was no reason for them to go off looking for innocent witches and wizards."

"My, my, Black. How wonderfully colloquial of you," said Snape.

"Go do something inappropriate with a snake, Snivellus!" Sirius shot back.

"I do believe _you're_ the one who enjoys intimacy with animals, Black," Snape replied, sneering at Remus.

"_As_ I was saying," Dumbledore interrupted, "The problem with this arrangement was made apparent years later, when it was too late to reverse. Even after having consumed the tainted souls of the tribe of dark Wizards, the Agholyths were still not completely dark. However, after years of feeding on nothing but the souls of the worst of the wizarding world-for the most part" he added, smiling at Sirius, "The Agholyths became so steeped in evil that they truly became Dementors; creatures bent on nothing but destroying their victims.

"So you see," he said, sighing, "We took away any chance the Agholyths may have had to revert to their former selves."

"And there's no way of turning them back? Of making them like they were before, I mean?" asked Harry.

"The question has been asked, of course, but the only answer that has made any sense is to allow the Dementors to feed on clean, pure souls...enough to counter the evil. Somehow, I don't think we'd be able to find sufficient volunteers." Dumbledore smiled.

"Oh, I don't know, Albus," said Snape, leaning causally against the wall, arms crossed with a smug look on his face, "I can think of a few Gryffindors with Hero complexes who'd be more than happy to sacrifice their lives for the greater good. Just tell them that if they don't, you're going to drop a puppy down a well, and they'll all come running, dragging their first-born children behind them." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face, "In fact, I'm really beginning to like this idea. I'll go place an add in the Daily Prophet."

Sirius stood up quickly, dragging Harry with him.

"Why you disgusting..." he stopped and drew a breath, closing his eyes. He then turned to Dumbledore, "Well, Professor, I think we've covered all we need to here. If you don't mind, I'll be taking Harry home now, away from certain...._unpleasant_ individuals."

At the mention of 'home', Harry looked happily up at Sirius, then at the Headmaster.

"Ah, well, yes..." Dumbledore said, suddenly avoiding eye-contact as he polished his spotless half-moon spectacles, "I'm afraid, Sirius, that Harry won't be accompanying you just yet. As a matter of fact, that is a matter I very much need to discuss with you both. With everyone present, in fact."

Sirius' face was suddenly very serious. "What, _exactly_, do you mean?" he asked, placing an arm protectively around Harry's shoulders. "Voldemort is dead. I was seen publicly fighting _against _him, and one of the Death Eaters was positively identified as Peter. What is there to discuss? And _no_, professor, nobody here wants a Sherbet Lemon!"

Dumbledore sighed, placed the small tin back in his desk drawer, and tented his fingers.

"I want you to understand, both of you," he began, eyeing the man and boy standing before him, "That at the time, it was really the only choice I had. I truly believed, as I still do, that it was the best thing to do. I am getting there Sirius, be patient," he said, holding up a hand to silence the impatient man.

"I did not believe, thirteen years ago, that Voldemort had been destroyed for good. I knew he would return, or if he did not, one of his followers would attempt to kill Harry. So, the only way to protect Harry was to place him in the care of blood relatives..."

"I already _know_ this, Professor!" Harry burst out, "You told me before: the Dursleys give me blood protection, because of my mother's sacrifice. But I don't _need_ protection anymore!" He was becoming frantic; he could feel his life with Sirius slipping through his fingers.

"Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice almost patronizing, "You were eleven when I told you that. You needed answers, and I gave them to you, but not the _full_ answers. What I told you was...an abridged version of the truth."

"So give me the _unabridged _version now," Harry said through gritted teeth. He could feel Sirius' arm tightening around his shoulders.

Dumbledore sighed.

"The warding spells I used are very complex, and one, in fact, is more of a _binding_ spell than anything. This spell requires you to be living under the care of a blood relative at least two months out of the year. If this does not occur, there , of a most un-pleasant nature, I assure you. The problem is, the wards are transferable, but only to another blood relative, and they cannot be removed until your 19th birthday."

Harry stood perfectly still, staring straight ahead.

"My father has no living relatives, and the Dursley's were the only ones on Mum's side. Right?"

"Yes," said Sirius hoarsly, not looking at Harry, "That's right. James had nobody...no uncles, aunts, cousins..."

"Well, actually, that's where we run into a bit of a hitch," said Dumbledore, looking un-characteristically agitated. His eyes flickered to Remus, who met his eyes then looked immediately at his hands. "It seems," he said, clearing his throat, "that James did have one cousin on his mother's side who was alive at the time I was making the wards. A mister Marcus Oulette. A distant relation, a resident of France, but still sharing a blood link with James. I contacted him, and he was amenable to taking on guardianship of Harry, but when it came time to perform the binding, it...didn't take."

"What do you mean, it _didn't take_?" snarled Sirius. A look of horrified comprehension appeared on his face. "You aren't suggesting...Lily would _never _do that to James!"

Harry whirled on his godfather, "What's going on? Mum wouldn't do _what_?" he didn't at all like the direction in which this conversation was heading. "Sirius? _Professor_?" he looked wildly between the two, eyes wide and panicked.

"Harry..." this time it was Remus who spoke, in a soothing voice as much for Sirius' benefit as for Harry's, "What the Headmaster is trying to say is that, while James is related by blood to Marcus, you...aren't."

Harry was in a full-blown panic by now. "But that's impossible!! Whoever my Dad's related to, I have to be related to! You're not making any sense! You must have made a mistake...you can try again! It was probably just a miss-calculation..."

Remus reached out, concerned, and tried to lay hold of Harry, who shook him off.

"No, Harry, we...the Headmaster and I...did every test we could think of. We even used Muggle DNA testing with yours and James' DNA...they all cam back negative. Harry...James Potter was _not_ your father."

Harry felt a weight slide off of his shoulders, and turned to look at Sirius, who was staring at him, arms hanging loosely by his sides, absolutely stricken. He regarded Harry for a time, slowly shaking his head. Then his eyes turned suddenly cold, and he turned his gaze away, focusing instead on Remus.

"_We_ did every test _we_ could think of?" Sirius' face showed nothing but pure anger and disgust. "You _knew_? Remus, what the hell is this? James' son, _my_ godson is a _bastard_, and you just decided to keep it to yourself?"

Harry recoiled sharply from Sirius. He felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, but Sirius paid no notice to the boy he'd embraced as his own only minutes before.

Remus, becoming angry, hissed, "This isn't about _you_, Sirius. It's about Harry. And besides, we thought you'd knocked them off. How were we to know you hadn't knocked _up_ Lily as well? Merlin knows you wanted to!"

Sirius shoved Remus sharply in the chest. "How _dare_ you!! You were the one who was always trying to get alone with Lily, you pathetic half-breed. Were you there to make sure _your _tests didn't come out positive?Should we start locking Harry up during full-moons, Remus?"

"I _was _tested! As were you, along with every man Lily was known to have contact with within the previous two years, you officious _prick_!! Quit acting like the bloody victim here!"

The two men stood, noses nearly touching, glaring daggers at one another. Harry stared at the two of them in a new light. He had never seen how incredibly shallow Sirius was. He'd called Remus, his best friend, a 'half-breed'. And he'd called Harry a bastard.

"If the bastard in question might be allowed to speak," he said coolly, eyes narrowed, "Why does everyone tell me I look so much like James Potter? Another one of your spells, I suppose?" he directed at Dumbledore.

The old man smiled slightly and shook his head.

"No, Harry, I'm afraid no spell was required. You see, you really only resemble James in a superficial way. Your black hair, glasses and the roundness of your face are so reminiscent of James Potter that nobody really ever looks further than that. In fact, since you've been maturing, your face has thinned out. I imagine you will bear closer resemblance to your natural father once all of your baby fat has disappeared, but you really do favour your mother's side of the family. Aside from the hair, and what I imagine your face shape will eventually be, nearly all of your features come from your mother."

"So, what, all I know is that my...my _father_ has black hair? That could be anybody." He glanced nervously at Sirius, who snarled and violently shook his head.

"No, Harry," said Remus, glancing nervously at Dumbledore, "Not just anybody. It had to be someone with black hair who had access to Lily Potter, and who had sexual intercourse with her in late October the year before you were born."

The room was silent, and then, from the corner, an ashen-faced Severus Snape said, "Halloween...oh, bloody hell."

For a moment, nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Nobody even breathed. Then,

"YOU BLOODY FUCKING SNAKE-KISSING BASTARD!!"

Sirius launched himself at Snape, who still looked to be in a daze. He snapped out of it when Sirius' fist connected squarely with his jaw; reeling back, he collected himself enough to dodge the next blow and grab his wand, which he used to spear his attacker in the groin. There followed a fierce, no-holds-barred fight. The two men punched, kicked and butted one another, never thinking to use their wands for anything other than eye-gouging, and Harry was fairly sure he saw Sirius bite Snape on the fore-arm.

This was confirmed moments later, when Dumbledore, annoyed, muttered a spell that flung the two men away from one another so hard that they slammed into the walls, knocking the wind out of them.

"Crazy bastard bit me!" Snape gasped out as he struggled to get to his feet. "I'm going to get Tetanus...or _rabies_!!"

"Severus, _be Quiet!"_ Dumbledore shouted the last word, startling Snape into silence. "_And you_!" He growled, turning to the opposite wall where Sirius had just opened his mouth. He shut it again with a sharp click. "Yes. Severus is Harry's father. Yes, Remus and I knew about it. Yes, we kept it a secret from all of you. And yes, it truly was the only thing we could have done. I'm sorry Harry," he looked at the young boy standing alone in the middle of the room. He hadn't said anything yet, and he looked absolutely horrified.

"No," he finally spoke, shaking his head, "It's not true. It can't be! Mum would never...not with _Snape_!"

"_Professor _Snape, Harry..." Dumbledore gently, and unwisely, admonished.

Harry turned on him, eyes blazing.

"Shut _up_! Just everybody _SHUT UP_!! So, what...I'm just supposed to go live with _him _now, is that it? Is that why you needed to talk to us? Well, if that's it, you can just forget it! I'd rather live my entire _life_ with the Dursleys than one _second _with...with him! You all can just go to hell!"

"Of course you're assuming that _I _would ever wish to acknowledge _you_. Do you think I want you living with me? You were an accident! You hear me? An _accident_! Unwanted. Unplanned. The product of a drunken one-night stand, where your mud-blood mother drank herself into my bed. Into the store-room of the Leaky Cauldron, actually..." Snape no longer looked shaken, and instead wore a look of mingled anger and disgust. He sneered at Harry as he spoke, and was interrupted by Sirius' angry shout.

"Shut your filthy mouth, Snape! Lily _never_ would have touched you voluntarily. What did you do? Rape her, you greasy bastard?"

Snape half-laughed.

"Rape? _She _pushed _me_ into the closet, and had her robes off and was working on mine before my eyes even adjusted to the dark. I took her, like she wanted me to, and then..." he smiled evily and leaned forward, leering at Sirius, "You think _I_ have a filthy mouth, Black? If you only knew..."

Harry shook his head and pushed his hands to the sides of his head.

"Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it..." he whispered to himself over and over again. This seemed to be becoming his mantra.

The digital clock flashed 5am. Wonderful. Aunt Petunia would be getting him up in a couple of hours, and he hadn't slept at all. This summer was shaping up to be the worst ever. Dumbledore and Remus had lied to him, his godfather had disowned him, his mother had been an adulteress, and his father...was no longer his father. Snape was.

In fact, he was no longer even Harry Potter. He was a _Snape_, not that either he or Snape would acknowledge it. He was glad that Snape didn't want him to move in with him, but that still didn't make him any happier about having to stay with the Dursleys until the bond wore off. He was just about to launch into another round of self-pity when he heard a familiar crack and sat bolt-upright in bed, flailing around for his wand. In doing so he fell off of his bed and landed with a thump, face on the floor next to a very large pair of bare feet.

"Ahem," said a voice not three feet from the ground.

Harry looked up into the disapproving face of a house elf clad in a pristine white tea cloth. Suddenly Harry felt very embarrassed at having acted so ineptly.

"Ah..." he said, trying to casually get into a more comfortable position, "May I help you with something?"

The house elf sniffed once, as if he found the whole business of dealing with Harry distasteful, then gave a small bow.

"You will please pack your things, Young Master. We are expected in a quarter hour."

Harry stared at the small creature blankly.

"Excuse me? Expected? Expected where? What are you talking about, who are you?" suddenly wary, and cursing himself for not being so earlier, Harry backed up and reached behind him for his wand, which he remembered having been stuffed into his pillow case.

The elf heaved an annoyed sigh and looked momentarily at the ceiling, as if cursing the heavens for having burdened him with the chore of having to deal with such a moronic individual.

"On the orders of his Master, Borrible is here to collect the Young Master and transport him to his father's home." The elf, Borrible, spoke in tones usually reserved for those with severe mental disabilities, small children, and animals.

Harry's eyes widened in shock.

"What? You're _Snape's_ elf? No! No way! Listen, _Borrible,_ you can just go back and tell your _master_ that I'm not coming. He doesn't want me there anyways. He said so himself. I'm. Not. Going." He folded his arms across his chest and glared defiantly at the elf, who glared right back.

Through slightly gritted teeth, Borrible replied,

"Despite Young Master's objections, Borrible has his orders, and he _will _carry them out. Master does not like being disobeyed. Now, where are Young Master's things?"

Harry sat down on his bed, still glowering at the tiny yet imposing figure, and made a show of clamping his mouth shut.

Borrible made a decisive clicking noise in his throat, then raised one of his long, bony fingers.

"Very well. Master anticipated his son's in-cooperation and gave Borrible leave to deal with this in his own way."

With a click of his fingers, Harry's trunk materialized in the middle of the bedroom floor and the lid sprang open. Another click retrieved his clothing from the dresser and closet, and a third summoned every last thing hidden around his room, including his wand, which flew into the open trunk along with everything else. Before Harry could even summon the brain power required to close his gaping jaw, Borrible had everything he owned packed away. Hedwig's empty cage sat atop the trunk.

"Now," spoke the elf, hand on his hips and one of his over-large feet tapping on the floor, "Is Young Master ready to come on his own, or does Borrible need to force him?"

Harry looked at the elf for a moment, then made a desperate lunge for him, hoping to knock him off his feet. Borrible made no move, just looked at him with an annoyed frown and, before Harry could lay a finger on him, the elf clicked his fingers, and the smallest bedroom in Number 4 Privet Drive was empty.

Thanks so much to everyont who reviewed my story:

Americanpie, GonnaBeFamous, Kateri1, Lillinfields,DarkSiaph, SammyBlack80, Loreille, Thorns'r'good, Opal, Miss Blizzard

Thanks for your input. Tell me what you think of the new chapter, and tell me how I'm doing.

thanks,

Miss Teigne


	3. ch 3

Disclaimer :

According to my court-appointed therapist, I am _not _J.K. Rowling, and I therefore neither created nor own any aspect of the Potterverse. The voices in my head and I are still debating this, but we thought we'd just humour her for a while. Stupid Muggle.

A/N:

Thanks to all my reviewers, you guys are awesome! Glad you liked the chapter. I also want to say a big, "I'M SORRY!!!" for the awkwardness of the transitions between flash-backs and points of view. For some reason, my formatting gets all messed up when I upload, so the nice little breaks all get lost. I'll try to fix that this chapter. Speaking of which...this chappie does a lot of work in the way of establishing my Sev's personality...which I hope nobody will want to lynch me for. For my views on how I think Sev should be, see my profile. Again...no hatred please, people...please?

Ch.3

Harry's first thought as he shot into existence out of thin air was,

"That's un-expected!"

Then, all thinking was temporarily suspended as his face slammed into something very, very hard.

"Owwwwwwww...."

Harry sat up, rubbing his smarting nose. 'Ah,' he thought, looking down, 'Hello, floor." The surface he had just crashed into appeared to be a flag-stone floor, peppered with dozens of shards of some sort of glittering material.

Curious, Harry reached out a hand to touch one of the reflective fragments, only to have his hand rudely slapped away by Borrible.

The disapproving and unpleasantly nasal voice of Harry's diminutive kidnapper immediately snapped,

"Does Young Master have any common sense whatsoever, or does he simply choose to ignore it completely and rely solely on his base animal instincts?" Borrible glared down his formidable nose at Harry, who sat, mouth agape, timidly rubbing his slapped hand like a naughty child.

"Wha, what?" stammered Harry, not at all comfortable under the eye of this tiny yet intimidating creature. "What did I do?"

The elf made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and pursed his lips together, an expression which made him look eerily like Petunia Dursley. Harry felt a shiver go down his spine.

"What Young Master _did_," said Borrible in that same, 'I'm talking to a simpleton' tone that he'd used earlier, "was to attempt to pick up pretty, razor-sharp shards of glass which would have given Young Master an Owie Boo-Boo."

Harry flushed in embarrassment and anger.

"Well, what idiot left broken glass lying all over the place?" he fumed, exactly one and a half seconds before he realized that his glasses were no longer on his face. "Oh," he said quietly, avoiding eye-contact with the scowling elf.

"'Oh' indeed," said Borrible. With one last sneer at Harry, he flicked his wrist and repaired the glasses. When they were once again whole, and Harry, feeling more and more like an idiotic child, made no immediate move to pick them up, Borrible remarked,

"Will Young Master be able to return his glasses to his face, or does Borrible need to help him find his nose?"

Flushing as red as the hair of all nine Weasleys combined, Harry snatched the glasses from the floor and fumbled them on to his face, nearly putting his left eye out in the process. Once he'd succeeded, he tried to glare defiantly at the elf, but failed miserably due to his wincing, watering eye.

In the end it didn't matter anyways, as Borrible had dismissed Harry from his thoughts and was now brushing non-existent dust from his pristine tea-cloth toga. Pretending he hadn't seen Harry's glare, Borrible returned his attention to the glowering boy and said,

"If the Young master is quite ready, Borrible will show him to Master's study."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but firmly closed it again when Borrible wiggled his fingers menacingly in his direction. Thinking that he didn't want to greet Snape from the floor, glasses dangling from his ears, Harry ground out a reluctant,

"Fine. I'll go see him."

The elf made a deep bow and said,

"As Young Master wishes. If it pleases Young Master to follow?"

A slight twitch at the corner of an eye was the only evidence of the mocking that lay behind his actions.

Teeth gritted and fists clenched, Harry followed a few steps behind Borrible, thinking of all the wonderfully terrible things he'd like to do to him. Was the Cruciatis Curse only illegal when used on a _human_? He made a mental note to look it up the first chance he got.

A twisted smile was beginning to creep its way onto his face when he jerked to a stop, nearly treading on his odious little guide's heels. Harry looked around, suddenly aware of his surroundings; he was at least a floor higher than where he'd "landed", at the end of a stone corridor. The door he stood in front of looked like it might be the entrance to a tower.

Borrible opened the door, indicating that Harry should enter. Harry looked warily through the opening, and saw that it was indeed a tower; stone steps twisted out of sight, disappearing into the un-lit space above.

As he hesitantly set his foot on the first step, Harry turned to look at Borrible. Strangely, he didn't like the idea of continuing without the uppity little toad.

"Young Master will find the study at the top of the stairs. It is the only door. Master is waiting."

With that, the elf swung the heavy door shut with a forbidding 'thud', and Harry was left in the pitch-blackness of the tower. Fighting the urge to throw himself bodily against the door and scream to be let out, Harry steeled himself, and reached for his wand.

"Oh, right," he muttered, when he was unable to find it, "_Borrible_ has it. So no _lumos_, then. Right-o."

Careful to keep one hand on the wall, Harry slowly made his way up the twisting staircase. He noticed as he progressed that there were several un-lit torches set into the walls.

"Greasy git probably didn't light them on purpose," he grumbled, cursing under his breath as he nearly stumbled on an un-even step. After what inevitably seemed like hours, Harry felt his probing hand come into contact with wood. He raised his hand to knock, and felt himself hesitating.

"Damn, crap, shit, bugger, _fuck_!!!" he hissed under his breath, "Come on, Harry, don't be such a fucking nonce. This isn't Hogwarts, he can't do anything to you, he's not your professor right now, he's your...Shit." Cursing reality for the 300th time since "Doom's Day", as he liked to call that day at Howgarts two weeks before, Harry vented his frustration by soundly flipping off the closed door.

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, which was becoming a nasty habit, Harry knocked his fist three times against the door, and added a fourth, slightly louder knock with his forehead as he thumped it dejectedly against the wood.

Harry was caught off guard as the door swung inward instantly to reveal a rather annoyed looking Severus Snape. The tall man looked down on him with the same malicious look on that Harry had seen so often in his Potions class. Harry tried his level best to match his professor's stony glare, but the best he could manage was a somewhat less-than-terrified stare.

"Tell me, boy," said Snape, slowly crossing his arms, "is it considered normal in the circles you travel in to make one's presence know by muttering profanities, gesturing rudely and ramming one's head into the door? I would think that one such as yourself would want to keep safe whatever limited cranial facilities one had, not go about testing wood density with them."

Harry felt all of the colour drain from his face.

"I...you...what...how...?" He swallowed noisily, and edged nervously away from the figure towering above him.

Snape's upper lip curled.

"Door transparency, boy. Very basic wizarding security measure. Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three, Chapter 8, I believe. How _are_ your notes in Charms, by the way?"

Harry looked down and shuffled his feet, suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was still barefoot, clad in Dudley's too-big pajamas. Inside he was fuming, but there was outwardly very little he felt he could do. He was aware that he was at an incredible disadvantage. One, he was in Snape's house; two, Snape was bigger than him; three, he had no wand; and four, he was wearing pajamas decorated with cricket-playing teddy bears. These factors did not instill much confidence in Harry.

"Well, don't just stand there boy, come in!" snapped Snape, gesturing curtly with one arm while leaning the other against the doorframe.

Harry jumped and moved forward. Snape did not move to let him pass, so Harry was forced to duck under his arm and slide against the stone wall, Snape all the while keeping his un-blinking gaze upon him.

After he'd entered the room, Harry felt his nervousness increase ten-fold. He could sense the man behind him, and felt a slight breeze on his bare neck as the door swung to. His flesh goose-pimpled, and Harry involuntarily brought his arms up, rubbing his shoulders.

A hand clamped firmly onto his neck, and Harry gasped, hitching his shoulders up and whirling around. Snape let go his grip, but regarded the wide-eyed boy with a delighted smirk.

"Rather jumpy aren't we, boy?" he said, taking a step towards Harry, who stumbled backwards before he could stop himself, found himself backed into a wall.

Snape, however, pleased with this new, vulnerable Harry, continued forward until he was mere centimeters away from the trembling boy, forcing him to crane his neck to look at him. Smiling thinly, Snape leaned forward.

"Welcome home."

Harry blinked. His brain, already taxed by the morning's events, was having trouble processing the statement. 'Welcome... home'? Welcome: to receive, to greet, to grant access to. Home: house, residence, dwelling, abode, habitat, quarters, domicile, address... Aw, hell no!

As it finally clicked, Harry's eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror.

"**_What?_**"

He dodged around Snape, tripping on his yards of black robes, and stumbled his way to the door. He yanked in-effectually on the handle, kicked it a few times, then slammed his head against the door with a bellowed,

"**_Fuck!_**"

"There you are with that strange custom of yours again," came the cruelly amused voice from behind him. "Does that make you feel any better?"

Harry whipped around and glared at the speaker.

"What in hell are you playing at, _Snape_? This isn't my home! It will _never_ be my home! You said yourself you wouldn't acknowledge me! Doesn't anyone keep their bloody promises anymore?" he paused, and angrily sputtered for a moment. "Why in hell are you _doing_ this? I was perfectly _fine_ without you, _believe_ me!"

Snape was looking no longer amused, but dangerously angry.

"Believe _me_, Mr. _Snape_," he said, watching as Harry flinched, "My actions in this matter are completely selfishly motivated, and have nothing whatsoever to do with either your happiness or well-being. I couldn't care less _what _you want, _where_ you want to live, or _who_ you want to live _with."_

With each word, Snape Sr. took another menacing step forward.

"The fact of the matter is that you are _my_ son. _Mine_. And I will no longer allow my progeny, however illegitimate it may be, to masquerade as the spawn of James _Bloody_ Potter. Word is going to get out, if it hasn't already, and I would rather it be on my terms. Soon it will be known that James Potter _stole_ the heir to an important wizarding family because he was unable to provide one of his own-he sent his whore of a wife out to find a man who could do properly the job he couldn't..."

"**Shut ­_up_**!!" screamed Harry, eyes blazing, "Shut up! That wasn't what happened! She was just...she just made a mistake. You took advantage...That's _not _how it happened, you _liar_!"

Snape snarled and grabbed his son by the gaping neck of his pajama top, jerking him fiercely toward him, until Harry was up on his toes, struggling to maintain his balance.

"Listen, you _insolent_ little _brat_!" he hissed, his face inches from Harry's, "I have news for you. You are _my _son. Do you understand what that means? It means that the Potters were raising a _stolen heir_. Perhaps it wouldn't matter if Evans had gone out and spread her legs for some trash like Arthur Weasley, but in our world, the children belong to the father. If this had come out while Potter still lived, both he and your mother would have been thrown into Azkaban to be cell makes with their precious Black. Even Dumbledore would be put to trial, had the circumstances not warranted his actions.

"You. Belong. To. Me. As you said earlier, in your little pre-knocking pep-talk, I am no longer your professor, I am your _father_. That means, contrary to your earlier statement, that I _can _do something to you. And trust me, _son_, talk to me in that tone again, or even _think_ of calling me anything other than _father _or _sir_, and I'll be giving you much more than a detention."

He released his grip and let the tight-lipped boy back on his feet. Harry pushed away and stood huddled against the locked door. Faced with the stark picture Snape's words had painted, Harry felt suddenly very weak. He drew a shaking breath and looked up warily at the grim figure before him.

The satisfied sneer on his father's face chilled Harry, but also pushed him to make one last shot at bravado.

"Mr. Weasley isn't trash," he rasped. His throat was tight.

"What was that?" Snape whispered, his voice deadly calm.

Again, Harry found his voice restricted. All of the moisture from his throat seemed to have gone to his forehead, which was suddenly beaded with sweat.

"I said," he growled, rage building up steadily inside him, "that Mr. Weasley isn't trash. Neither is Sirius, nor my mother, nor James, my _real_ father!"

Harry could hear his voice getting louder and louder as his father's face became angrier and angrier. Somewhere outside himself, Harry was watching the scene with a sort of perverse fascination. He knew he should look away, perhaps even _run_ away, but his eyes refused to move from the train-wreck unfolding before them.

Ignoring all of his survival instincts, Harry continued to speak to his father in "that tone", knowing on some presently dormant level that this was not going to end well.

"At least James got married! He could find someone who could stand to spend more than one drunken night with him! Look at you! You live here _alone_ with no company but your creepy little elf, though I bet you two get along just swimmingly, you're so alike! What have you been doing these past fourteen years? Staying at home, having weird narcissistic cross-species..."

That did it.

Snape said nothing, didn't even lift his wand, yet Harry found himself in a full body-bind, being slammed into the wall behind him, where he stood absolutely rigid, eyes fixed on those of his father.

The black eyes bore into him, pinning him in place as effectively as the body-bind. He closed the gap between himself and his petrified son in one stride and leaned menacingly over him, placing a hand on either side of Harry's head.

"I am going to attribute that little outburst to the fact that you are tired and _stupid_. You will not receive such a courtesy again. I will not tolerate insolence, not from my students and definitely not from my son. The next time anything even remotely close to that happens, you will become intimately acquainted with the disciplinary methods of traditional wizarding society. Is that clear?"

He flicked his wand, which he now held loosely in his hand, and freed Harry's head from the bind. He tried to look away, but the deep black pits held him. He was officially cowed.

"Yes," was his whispered answer.

The eyes didn't blink, but one single eyebrow was raised almost in-perceptively.

"Yes, _sir_," Harry amended, in an even softer whisper.

This seemed to satisfy Snape, as he finally turned his gaze away from his son. Harry closed his eyes and let his head drop to the side with a gasp. He fought to calm his breathing, conscious of the lump rising in his throat. He had never felt so absolutely helpless. Even facing Voldemort, he'd been able to defend himself, and there had been the chance of someone coming to rescue him.

From what Snape had told him, and what little he already knew of wizarding law, custody of children was fairly cut and dried. Blood above all else; Wizarding blood above Muggle, and paternal over maternal. Nobody was going to be coming to save him from his father.

And as for defending himself, even if he had his wand, and even if he was allowed to use it during the summer, Snape was still a more experienced, more powerful wizard than he was. In short, Harry Snape was screwed.

Severus Snape stood before the motionless boy, arms crossed, tapping his wand against his left bicep.

"Now," he said, "are you ready to behave in a civilized manner? If not, I can always leave you standing there with your thoughts for a while longer. Well? Can you behave?"

Harry nodded mutely, then, realizing more was expected, answered,

"Yes sir."

He had braced himself, but he still almost fell to the floor when the bind was lifted. He stood for a moment on shaking legs before his father curtly ordered him to sit. Harry took a quick, nervous look around before he hesitantly took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, behind which Snape had just taken a seat.

Harry found that the chair was almost exactly the wrong dimensions for it to be comfortable. The seat was too deep for him to rest against the back-rest, which was set at an odd forwards angle that dug into his neck, the arm-rests were too low to be of any use without slouching, and the legs were long enough that only his toes touched the floor. He squirmed.

He looked up to find his father looking at him with some amusement. 'Of course,' he thought, 'it must be charmed to be like this for whoever sits in it. He knows how un-comfortable it is.'

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, and he felt the anger beginning to boil up inside him again. 'That sick bastard..." He stopped himself from going any further, calling to mind the threat of "traditional disciplinary methods." He didn't like the sound of that, or the glint that had entered Snape's eyes as he saw the colour rise in Harry's face. So he sat up straight, gripped the too-low armrests, and stared straight ahead, mouth firmly shut.

Snape smirked, as usual, and sat back in his own leather wing-back, playing casually with his wand. Harry was reminded strongly of Voldemort playing with the Ghol knife. He shook his head slightly to clear the image. Snape appeared not to have noticed and started talking.

"Well, then, we have business to discuss. All of what I am about to tell you has already been taken care of, so any contestations on your part will serve as nothing but annoyances to me. I suggest you annoy me no further today. Strongly."

He eyes Harry for a moment, to make sure his point had been made, then continued,

"First is the matter of your inheritance of the Potter estate. Since you are not, in fact, a blood relative of James Potter, and his naming of you in his will was made under the assumption that you were, in fact, his son, all of his assets are to be re-distributed to the last members of his family in France. This includes all remaining monies, properties and...invisibility cloaks."

Harry's lip curled and his grip on the arm-rests tightened, but he remained silent.

"Next is the matter of your God Father. I believe it goes without saying that Black is no longer appropriate and has been relieved of his position...not that he was at all keen to continue in the role anyways, in light of recent discoveries. He has been replaced by my brother Atticus, whom you shall soon meet."

Harry's lip had now curled inside his mouth, where he was biting it in an effort to keep quiet. His breath was coming quicker, and he was beginning to see red.

"The last point I wish to address at this time is the matter of your name."

Harry's eyes widened in shock as his teeth bit straight through his bottom lip.

"**_Aaauugh!_**" he sprang out of his seat, hands clutching his bleeding mouth.

Snape stood up as well, eyes blazing.

"What did I tell you about your behavior!?" he growled, gripping his wand angrily.

"_Mmmmm hm hmmmm..." _was all that Harry could get out, but he gestured wildly to his lip, showing his father the blood on his hands. He had knocked the seat over as he got up, and now quickly backed away from the seething man.

"I will not tolerate your excuses! This is always your behavior at school as well. Somehow you manage to convince everyone that circumstances make your case extra-ordinary, when in reality all you had to do was follow instructions. Well, we are no longer at Hogwarts, and I am going to put a stop to this behavior right now."

Harry recognized the look in his father's eyes. It was the same as when Snape had cornered Sirius in Harry's third year. The look promised pain, pain which Snape had been waiting a long time to deliver.

He continued to back away, frantically shaking his head, as the incensed potions master raised his wand. Harry didn't hear the spell that was spoken, but its results were made painfully clear as he found himself drawn forward by an irresistible force and thrown face-down over the desk in front of his enraged father. In the time that followed, Harry wasn't sure whether he was actually being physically struck or if it was a product of a spell, but either way he felt as if he were being strapped with a belt.

Struggling had no results, as he was held down as forcefully as with a body-bind. His mouth, however, was completely un-hindered, and try as he might to stay quiet, he couldn't. In his mind, Harry was berating himself for being so weak; he'd been bitten by a basilisk, had his arm broken by a bludger, had the bones in the same arm re-grown, survived the Cruciatis Curse on more than one occasion, and been through more danger than most wizards twice his age, yet he couldn't keep quiet during a _spanking _from his _daddy_?

A little voice inside him was telling him that this wasn't exactly what you'd call a spanking, but it was drowned out by his _real_ voices' howls. Finally, Harry became aware that the blows had stopped, though the assaulted area was still sending out seismic waves of pain. He struggled to quiet down, and eventually managed to let out only the occasional hic-coughing sob.

He stared down at the desk-top in front of his face, which was smeared with his tears and the blood from his lip. His glasses were spotted, and he could feel his nose running. He reached his arm forward to wipe it, and in doing so discovered that he could again move his limbs. Coughing, and trying not to shake too much, Harry slowly straightened up and slid away from his father, who was red in the face and panting with exertion.

Harry glanced furtively at his hand, and saw that it still held the wand. Snape caught his glance and immediately pocketed his wand, suddenly looking less satisfied than Harry had expected. He looked away from Harry for a moment while he composed himself, arranging his robes in a way that on anyone else would be called fidgeting. After several moments, when Harry's breathing was less audibly strained and he had managed to wipe most of the mess off of his face, Snape turned back towards him.

"Sit down," he said, indicating a chair that was still upright.

Harry hesitated, but obeyed. As he lowered himself carefully into the chair, he noticed that this one, while not exactly an easy-chair, was at least not specifically engineered to cause discomfort. Once he was seated, in fact, he noticed that the pain seemed to be receding. He considered questioning this, but thought better of it.

His father, however, seemed to have read his mind.

"The pain will diminish quicker than that caused in the...Muggle way," he said, looking carefully at a fixed point in the distance instead of in his son's eyes. Harry studied the man's face. While not exactly apologetic, he thought he could detect a small amount of regret. He at least didn't look angry anymore.

When he finally turned his eyes on his son, Severus cleared his throat and looked sternly at Harry.

"Ahem. As I was saying. Your name. I will not, as you no doubt feared, be changing your given name. It will remain as it always was: Heroditus."

Harry's head snapped up, and he forgot for the moment about being terrified.

"Heroditus? What do you mean? That's not my name..." He trailed off as he met his father's eyes ,then looked away.

Something flashed across Severus' face; a fleeting look of...something, before the hardness returned to his eyes and the sternness to his voice.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it _is_ your name, as it was given to you when you were born. You didn't think 'Harry' was a short form of 'Harold' or such Muggle nonsense, did you?" He snorted. "No Wizarding family worth anything will give their children names without a respectable Greek or Latin origin. Sometimes they will, if the middle name is a proper name, but not usually. James Potter, for example, had the middle name Hephaestus, I believe," he said with a smirk.

"So...sniff...my name is Heroditus James Snape then?" Harry timidly asked.

Severus snarled slightly, which made Harry jump in his seat again.

"_No,_" he said, eyes narrowed, "You are Heroditus _Severus_ Snape. The middle name always comes from the parent."

"Ah," said Harry, or was it _Herry_ now, "I see."

Severus eyed Harry for a moment, then stood up. Harry immediately followed suit.

"That is all for now. I feel we to an understanding. Borrible will show you to your room, where you will stay until you are sent for. I expect you to be ready for brunch at eleven o'clock, and that you will be wearing something a little more...appropriate."

Harry looked down at his pajamas, now a rumpled mess and gave a dry, humourless laugh.

"Yes, sir."

"Very good then. You will find Borrible where you left him." This was evidently a dismissal, as he sat back down at his desk and picked up some papers.

Harry said nothing, just walked gingerly to the door, which was no longer locked, and slipped through, closing it silently behind him. After he left, Severus looked up from his papers and watched through the door charm as his son descended the tower stairs. His hand rose and massaged his temple for a moment, a mannerism few people had ever witnessed. He let his hand drop, and then reached for his ink bottle. A moment later, he was again absorbed in his work.

Just as he had been told, Harry found Borrible waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He had taken a few moments before he emerged to erase any sign of what had transpired above. The last thing he wanted was for the nasty little creature to know about...that.

"Young Master wishes to be shown to his room now?" the elf asked respectfully.

"Erm, yes," Harry answered, relieved, as he began to follow the elf back down the corridor.

"Borrible thinks Young Master will be quite happy here," he said casually, without looking behind him, "Borrible loves it here. Such wonderful acoustics."

Okay...so that's that. Please don't hate me!

Tell me what you think...eeek!


	4. ch 4

Chapter 4.

To Harry's great disappointment, Borrible neither spontaneously combusted nor choked to death on his own tongue in the time it took him to guide Harry from his father's study to his new bedroom. As they passed through the corridors, turning so many corners that he wasn't sure he'd be able to re-trace his steps on his own, Harry took the opportunity to examine his surroundings.

The "house" seemed to be more of a castle-a smaller one, judging by the height of the ceilings, but a castle nonetheless. Turning his eye to the buttresses overhead, it occurred to Harry that, over-all, it reminded him strongly of Hogwarts. In fact, he mused, taking a closer look at the pattern of the lead casing in a window as he passed, it was almost an _exact_ copy, at least in regards to the decorative style.

Harry grinned slightly. The house was a replica: a Hogwarts knock-off. His grin turned into a smirk. If this was supposed to be Hogwarts, then what was the tower study? The Headmaster's Study, he presumed. Imitation _was_ the sincerest form of flattery, he'd heard, but this seemed dangerously close to crossing some sort of line.

He amused himself for a moment with an image of his father in a white wig and fake beard, posturing in front of a mirror, eating Sherbet Lemons while trying to find the muscle required to make his eyes twinkle.

Harry snorted, which made Borrible look over his shoulder, giving him a haughty glance. He sniffed and looked away without comment, as if Harry was not even worthy of his distain.

Scowling at the elf's back, Harry rolled his eyes. This "Holier than Thou" bit was wearing on his nerves. After the initial weariness had worn off, and he had a firmer grip on the situation, Harry saw Borrible as more annoying than intimidating. Returning to his earlier train of thought, Harry supposed the elf could be seen as the counter-part to Peeves.

Pleased with this new image, Harry allowed the grin to creep back onto his face, just as the malodorous cretin in question stopped. He turned, and was obviously miffed to find the boy's smiling face. He regarded him with his best spirit-crushing glare, which he was clearly annoyed to find did not have the desired effect.

With a "humph" and one last glare, Borrible crossed his arms petulantly over his chest and jerked his head toward a door on his right.

"Young Master's bedroom," he said curtly. "Can Young Master manage on his own, or does Borrible need too..."

"No thank you Borrible," Harry interrupted cheerfully, "but thank you very much for your help." He smiled winningly, then entered the room, turning his back on the fuming creature. As he closed the door he poked his head out, flashed another smile, and added,

"Oh, by the way, Borrible, there's a spot on your tea cloth," the ducked into the room as the elf's hands and eyes flitted anxiously over his raiment, searching for the imaginary stain. By the time he realized it didn't exist, Harry had shut the door in his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry pressed his ear against the door and held a hand over his mouth to suppress his mirth. Through the thick oak he could hear the elf spitting in impotent rage. Laughing to himself, Harry turned to face the interior of the room that was to be his residence for..._ever_, he thought bitterly.

He shook his head.

"Let's not fire up the pity factory again, Harry," he admonished himself. Hands shoved into the cavernous pockets of his bear-spangled pajama trousers, he began a slow circuit of the room.

It wasn't small, but neither was it huge. The three inner walls, the outer being left natural stone, were painted a not-quite-cream colour that was neither warm nor cold. In a corner, by a medium-sized desk, sat an easy chair that, when he tested it, Harry found neither comfortable nor un-comfortable. The bed was of an average size, the bedding made of fabric patterned in a simple yet confusing pattern.

When he reached the outer wall and looked out the un-remarkable windows, his view was one that did not compel him to gaze at for hours on end. The only decoration was above the fireplace mantel: a framed painting of a non-descript pastoral scene that looked as if it had previously hung on the wall of a less-than five-star hotel.

In fact, now that he thought of it, that was exactly what this room reminded him of: a hotel room. It wasn't as un-welcoming as, say, a hospital room, but it was definitely nowhere one would wish to spend more than a few days.

It occurred to Harry that this was likely a simple guest-room that had been turned over to him without any specific preparations for his arrival.

Feeling more welcome by the minute, Harry dragged his feet over to the bed, at the foot of which sat his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage. She'd been out flying during his abduction, but Harry was sure she'd be able to find him.

Setting the cage aside, he began rummaging through the trunk for more "suitable" clothes, as his father had ordered. He considered wearing his worst cast-offs from Dudley, but the pain that shot through his backside as he sat back on his heels to survey his wardrobe made him re-consider in a hurry.

He finally pulled out a pair of hound's-tooth trousers and a pull-over that was only one or two sizes too big for him. It had been a birthday gift for Dudley from a distant relative who had made the mistake of believing he was buying a gift for a boy, not a hippopotamus with a gland problem. Unfortunately, said relative was colour blind, an affliction which, when combined with an acute lack of taste, resulted in one very ugly article of clothing.

Still, as Harry was loath to admit, it was the best he had. Sighing, he pulled his soiled and rumpled pajamas off and dressed half-heartedly. When he was finished he looked around for a mirror, which he found inside the door of a wardrobe set into the wall beside the bed.

He looked at himself and made a face. While he didn't pretend to be an expert on fashion, he knew full well that the combination of his black and white trousers with the shockingly patterned pull-over would have raised eyebrows in the dressing-room of a circus side-show. They were, however, the only articles of clothing he had that didn't swim on his lean frame or have gaping holes in obvious places.

Harry let out a resigned sigh and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He absent-mindedly tried to flatten it, and stepped forward to examine himself more closely in the glass. He was searching, as he had been for the past two weeks, for a family resemblance.

What Dumbledore had said had turned out to be true. The first chance he had, Harry had carefully scrutinized every inch of his face in the mirror, and had found that he did indeed very closely resemble his mother. Nose, eyes, mouth, even his ears looked exactly Lily Evans'.

Now he leaned closer and turned his head from side to side, trying to find Snape in his reflection. The hair, he supposed, was obviously inherited from him, and perhaps, now that he thought of it, his chin. Remembering what the Headmaster had said about his face thinning out, he sucked in his cheeks.

"There," he said through his pursed lips, "now I look like a fish. I should ask the git if this is something I should be worried about...Maybe the Snape ancestor was a little late in crawling out of the primordial ooze, and they haven't yet evolved fully into human beings. Hmmm," he tapped his sunken cheek in mock-contemplation, "that might explain a lot of things."

He grinned, and his lips parted with a loud smacking noise. Tired of staring at his own reflection, he turned and went back to his trunk. He poked through it, but was soon bored with what it contained: clothes, schoolbooks, papers and...certain things he would rather avoid looking at.

His photo album, which only weeks before he could leaf through for hours, now set his emotions in turmoil. James Potter now seemed like a stranger, and he couldn't look at a picture of his mother without hearing Snape's description of Harry's own adulterous conception.

Images of Remus stirred up resentment over his having kept such a secret from him, and Sirius...well, Sirius was another story altogether.

After the initial confrontation, Harry had not seen his then-God Father until he was leaving Hogwarts, two days later, when Dumbledore had finally decided that things had clamed down enough for him to be allowed to leave.

Sirius had approached Harry in the Great Hall where he was waiting with his trunk. The meeting had been brief, and had left a bad taste in Harry's mouth.

"Keep in touch, right Sport?" he said from a casual distance, "Oh, and you can still keep the Firebolt, by the way...I don't really need it...got my bike, you know?"

He'd lingered a moment, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. Then his mouth smiled, and he said,

"Well, you have a good summer, right?" and with that he clapped Harry on the shoulder and strode off.

In his new room, sitting on a stack of pillows to cushion his smarting rear, Heroditus Severus Snape stared down at the photo album that now lay in his lap, tracing Sirius' features with his index finger. He half expected the image to turn away from him in revulsion, or worse, to give him that empty-eyed smile again.

Harry knew that he shouldn't dwell on this. Sirius was obviously not the person he'd thought he was; he was petty and vindictive. If Harry needed any proof beyond the treatment he himself had received, the fact that the man had labeled Remus a "half-breed" and shut him out of his life should have been enough. If this was the real Sirius, he wasn't worth pining for.

Harry knew this, he really did. But then, Harry knew that the sky was blue, but that didn't stop him from looking at it every day.

The Firebolt lay at the bottom of the trunk, shrouded in his Hogwarts cloak. Harry hadn't yet been able to bring himself to touch it. It was tainted by Sirius' last words to him.

Placing the album back into the trunk, Harry closed the lid.

He glanced at the clock that sat on the desk and moaned. _How _could time _possibly_ be passing so _slowly_? Since Borrible had appeared in his room at Privet Drive at 5 am, barely two hours had passed. That couldn't be true, could it? Surely the interview with his father had taken more time that _that_!

On reflection, Harry grudgingly admitted that what had seemed like several torturous hours was more likely a scant half-hour or so, if a very..._eventful_ one.

How on earth was he going to fill the four hours that lay between now and the pending father/son bonding session? He had no diversions, save for his school books, and he had not yet been driven to the level of desperate boredom required for an act of such extra-curricular madness.

His fingernail found the edge of a floorboard, and traced the network of ridges until a grain of sand derailed it.

An errant thread caught his eye, which he dutifully plucked from the hem of the coverlet.

Harry leaned forward and opened the trunk again. From one of Uncle Vernon's socks he pulled the miniature animated Hungarian Horntail and set it down on top of the bed. Kneeling at the edge, the boy rested his chin on his crossed arms and observed the charmed figure. After several minutes of mindless observation, he noticed that the dragon was set on a loop; it would roar, pace, flex its wings, pace, stretch, pace, swish its tail, pace, circle and lie down. Then it would get to its feet with a roar, and start the process again.

How depressing.

Harry shoved the Horntail back into the sock and tossed it into the trunk. With a frustrated roar he flopped onto his back on the bed. He stared at the plaster ceiling and came to the conclusion that it was the least interesting ceiling in the world. He hated that ceiling. Stupid ceiling.

He closed his eyes to block out the image of the despised ceiling, and did what any fourteen year-old boy in his situation would have done. He fell asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once, as the boys of Gryffindor tower lay about, steeped in serious discussion, Seamus Finnegan stated that the worst way to be awakened was to have a bright light shone in one's face.

Neville Longbottom disagreed, on the grounds that hearing the harpy-like screeching of his grandmother first thing in the morning was guaranteed to have one starting the day with a healthy nervous tick.

Dean countered with his account of an experience he'd had while away at a Muggle summer camp, involving his hand and a bowl of warm water.

The boys were about to concede to his victory when Ron emphatically declared that the absolute worst way to be called out of the Land of Nod was to have a 5-litre pail of Bubotuber Puss suspended from one's ceiling in such a way as to make it spill its contents on one's head when the bedroom door is opened by one's Mother, wanting to know if what one's elder twin devil's-spawn brothers had said about him feeling ill was true.

Ron won, hands down.

At the time, Harry had thought, but not wanted to say, that the worst (though possibly not worse than Ron's) method of being woken up was to the hollow thumping of Aunt Petunia's fist against his cupboard door.

He was about to discover that they had all been wrong. None of them had ever been awakened by....Borrible.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the diminutive elf received no response to his knocking, Borrible opened the door and poked his long nose into the room. He spied the peacefully sleeping boy, and stepped through the door, easing it shut silently. With exaggerated care, he tiptoed to the edge of the bed. He gripped the coverlet and hoisted himself up until he was at eye-level with Harry.

"Young Master," he whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear his own words. "Young Master must wake up if he is to be on time for his father."

There was no response, so the elf reached out a finger and, with a feather-light touch, prodded the sleeping figure's nose. Harry didn't even twitch.

Finally, and ever-so-gently, Borrible bounced on the mattress, not creating enough motion to startle an ant.

A slow, malicious grin spread across his nasty little face. He carefully slid off of the bed, making sure not to jostle its occupant, and tiptoed a few steps away. He grabbed one of the pillows from the stack on the floor, took a deep breath, shoved the pillow in his face and gave a muffled yell. He looked at Harry, and finding his still sleeping, grinned and rubbed his long fingers together.

He raised a finger, pointed it toward the bed, and...

With a loud**_ BANG! , _**the mattress sprang upwards and to the side, catapulting Harry into the air and sending him in a graceful parabola across the room, where he landed with a bone-jarring **_THUMP!_** on the hardwood floor.

Harry let out a terrified yell as he flew through the air, followed by a loud yelp as he connected with the floorboards.

Concern written all over his face, Borrible rushed over, wringing his hands, eyes wide.

"Oh, is Young Master alright? Oh, Borrible feels very, very badly about this. But he tried, he really did, to wake Young Master another way."

Harry squinted at the elf through watery eyes and gasped,

"Well, you can't have tried very hard...Merlin, owwww!"

"Oh, yes, Young Master, Borrible tried very hard to wake him," a glint had appeared in his eyes, and a smile played at the corner of his mouth, "Borrible asked nicely, then poked, then shook, and Borrible even shouted, but Young Master did not wake!"

"Why you..." Harry snarled, beginning to get gingerly to his feet.

Borrible, not even trying to hide his smirk, interrupted him.

"It is already ten minutes to the hour...does Young Master truly wish to be tardy? His father may not be pleased."

With that, he turned and walked toward the door.

Harry, cursing and wincing alternately, scrambled into his shoes and hurried after the elf.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once again, Borrible merely pointed at the door that Harry was supposed to enter before disappearing with a loud _crack!_

The boy stood outside and ran a nervous hand through his hair, which he realized he'd had no time to comb after his rude awakening. He reached up to make sure it wasn't _too_ tousled, but stopped mid-gesture when he remembered the charm on his father's study door. Jerking his hand down, he paused only to tug once at his suddenly tight collar before pushing the heavy door open.

On his way down, he'd again begun musing about this building's similarities to Hogwarts, and had imagined that he'd be led to a scaled-down version of the Great Hall. This was why, as he stepped cautiously through the doorway, he'd glanced first at the ceiling, expecting to see an image of the mid-morning sky.

What he saw instead was dark wood paneling, which continued to the walls. Slightly disappointed, he turned his eyes downward, where they met his father's disapproving glare.

He jumped, and was mortified to hear his voice say,

"Eeep!"

Severus Snape let his paper fall onto the table and crossed his arms. He eyed his son with a look that did not fall short of loathing.

"Well," he said, "You _do_ clean up nicely, don't you."

After four years of the man's sarcasm, Harry had built up a good amount of resistance to such verbal barbs, but that didn't keep him from flushing in embarrassment at the obvious dig about his clothes.

Crossing his own arms, he replied tersely,

"They were the best I had. Sorry, _Father_"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Really. Even better than your Hogwarts uniform? I seem to recall those having a slightly better fit and the pattern being not quite so..._interesting_."

Harry flushed even redder. _Why _hadn't he thought of his uniform? Even just his shirt and trousers would have been appropriate. _Idiot_! He closed his eyes and growled,

"Would you like me to go change? _Sir_?"

Snape didn't miss the hostility in the boy's voice, but didn't react.

"No. I'll not have you wasting any more of my time." He gestured to a seat across from his own, and ordered, "Sit."

Harry, clenching and un-clenching his fists, sat.

The two stared at each other in un-blinking silence until they were interrupted by the arrival of the food,brought in by an elf which, Harry noticed with relief, wasn't Borrible.

"Snidget has brunch, Master, Young Master," said the elf, bowing to each in turn. He looked curiously and almost fearfully at Harry, as if observing a strange dog. Harry smiled in what he thought was a reassuring way, at which Snidget let out a yelp and jumped to hide behind the cart on which he'd brought the food.

Harry was unsure whether or not he should laugh. This elf, at least, seemed to be more like the one's he'd already met.

Snape, apparently, found nothing amusing in the behavior of his servant.

"Snidget!" he snapped, making both elf and boy jump, "Don't be ridiculous! Serve the food and get out!"

The elf scurried out from behind the cart and quickly set to work, stammering apologies the whole time, along with assurances that he would properly punish himself once he returned to the kitchen. Harry was disturbed to hear the words, "double-broiler" and "toes" mentioned in conjunction.

Unperturbed, Snape simply waved the jibbering elf away and turned to his meal.

Harry cast a worried glance after the elf, then turned to his own plate. He eyed the food warily, and poked a sausage carefully with his fork before trying any of it.

"Expecting poison, boy?"

Harry didn't answer beyond a scowl directed at his eggs, which he proceeded to savagely cut into smaller and smaller pieces. He was fairly sure that Snape didn't want him to answer him anyways. The way he figured it, "conversations" in this household were going to be fairly one-sided: Snape talking (lecturing, ranting, dictating, berating, etc) and Harry listening, with only the occasional head-nod or muttered "Yes, sir," or "No, sir."

That was the way the man ran his classes, so Harry saw no reason to expect anything more here. Not that he especially _wanted_ to talk with him. Anything he _really_ wanted to say would not likely be well received, so he decided the head-nodding approach would be safest.

As if he'd read the boy's thoughts, Snape started talking.

"I have several things planned for the day. First, since you are in _obvious_ need of one, you shall be accompanying me to Diagon Alley, where I will purchase you a wardrobe more befitting your station and less..._you_."

Harry renewed his attack on his eggs, shoveling them into his mouth. He figured that if he kept it full of eggs, there would be no room for his foot.

"While we are there, _I_ will conduct some business. _You _will behave yourself, and stay out of my way. Finally," he said, looking intensely at his son, "we will be dining at my brother's house."

Harry choked and coughed, spewing bits of semi-chewed egg and sausage across the table.

"_Heroditus_!"

"Sorry," gasped Harry, taking a swig from his water goblet, "s-sorry! I just...we're going tonight?" He looked nervously at his father and leaned as far back in his chair as he could.

Snape was gripping the edge of the table, obviously trying to control his temper.

"Yes," he seethed, glaring daggers at the wide-eyed boy across from him, "we have been invited, _tonight_, to my brother Atticus' home to dine. You _will_ go, you _will _make a good first impression, and you _will not _embarrass me. Is that clear?"

The black eyes clearly held a challenge, but Harry knew better than to rise to the bait.

"Yes, sir," he said. Then, nervously trying to fill the tense silence, he stammered,

"Umm, Atticus...he's, umm, my godfather? Right?"

There was a hiss as Snape let out the breath he'd been holding, and he slowly sat back, releasing the table from his grip.

"Yes," he said, schooling his features to his former icy-calm, "Atticus is my brother, younger by one year. His wife is Calliste, and their son is Castor. He is your age, I believe. My sister Adara, her husband Odysseus and their children will also be in attendance. Myles is a year or two behind you at Hogwarts and Philomena has yet to start."

Harry waited for him to continue, and when he simply resumed eating, asked,

"I have cousins at Hogwarts?" this news couldn't help but intrigue him. There were little Snape-spawn running about Hogwarts and he didn't know about it? 'Ugh,' he thought, 'they ought to make them wear signs: "_WARNING! THIS IS A SNAPE! VOLATILE SUBSTANCE, MAY EXPLODE!" _

He almost smiled before he realized that he was referring to himself as well. The idea immediately lost its appeal.

"_A_ cousin," said Snape, jolting Harry out of his thoughts.

"What?" said Harry, "Why just one? You said there were two around my age..."

"Yes," interrupted Snape, "Castor is of Hogwarts age, but his _mother_," here he rolled his eyes, and spat the word out as if it tasted bad, "seems to feel that she can do a better job of educating her son at home than the entire staff of Hogwarts can."

He snorted, clearly disgusted by the thought,

"The boy is spoiled, as most only children are..." he glared at Harry, as if to let him know that _he'd _receive no such treatment, only child or not.

Harry glared right back.

"The other one...Myles? I don't think I know him. Which house is he in, Slytherin?" he asked with a slight sneer.

His father met his sneer with one of his own, and answered,

"Ravenclaw, actually. He just finished his third year, I believe. Which means you would have missed his sorting, due to the incident involving Mr. Weasley's car."

The look on his father's face as he remembered the incident made Harry very, _very_ glad that Snape had not been his guardian in second year. Eager to change the subject, Harry cleared his throat.

"Umm, yes. Ah...his last name's not Snape, then is it? I'd have known, otherwise..."

"I expect you would have," came the reply. "His father is an Alexandros. A very good family."

"Oh."

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

Finally, well after Harry had finished eating, Snape put down his paper and announced that they were going. He summoned Snidget (who Harry noticed was walking awkwardly on his heels) and told him to fetch Harry's cloak from his room. When he returned, and Harry thanked him, Snidget squealed in terror and fled the room.

Snape looked at his son with renewed disgust, then with a muttered, "Make sure your clothes are covered for _Merlin's _sake!", he grabbed Harry roughly by the arm and apparated them both out of Snape Manor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thank you SO much, to all of my reviewers. Seriously, you all blew me away with your responses to the last chapter. I appreciate all of your input very much...feel free to tell me exactly what you think...what you DID like, what you DIDN'T like, or just any observations you might have.

I'd love to respond to all the reviews I got, but since there were 45 (!!! I LOVE you guys!!!) I'm just going to address the questions that were brought up.

For those of you who were worried that Harry was too easily cowed, don't worry. He was just a little shaken up. After all, he WAS kid-napped in the wee hours of the morning, ridiculed by a nasty little elf, had his identity ripped away from him and beaten up. I don't know about you guys, but personally, I wouldn't be feeling too hot in that situation. You'll see pretty soon that he's still got some spirit in him. He's going to make sure things get shaken up for Snape too. Promise.

For those who thought Sev was OC...what can I tell ya. Sorry, but after reading the fifth book especially, I have no problem believing that he would do what he did to Harry, given the chance. Also, I don't want to sound too touchy-feely here, but Sev's going through a big change too. He doesn't have all that much experience in this area. He MAY end up re-evaluating his parenting methods...depending on just how much of that "spirit" I mentioned earlier Harry decides to exhibit.

People wondering what ship I'm going to use...I'm not really at that point in the story yet, so I'm afraid you're all just going to have to wait!

Sorry again about the awkward shifts between scenes. As soon as I know how (help me out here, people) I'll go back and fix them.

People who like Borrible...hee hee! Welcome to my twisted rendition of a Mary-Sue! :P

Some of you seem to think that I invented the concept of Sev/Harry Father/Son stories. Well, the truth is...ummm...you're right! It was all me! It has never been done before! Severitus? Never heard of 'em!

Heroditus is just for the philosopher. No special meanings there, sorry. Does anyone know where I got the names for the other characters, including the elves?

And, as a last note...**Tia Evans** and **Molly Morrison**, it was really cool to get reviews from you guys...I really like your stories!

And...**Kamahpfan**...I had to double check...but, yup, you ARE the person who wrote "A Life of Lies"!! One of my favourite fics ever, by the way.


	5. ch 5

Disclaimer: You all know the drill.

**Chapter 5**

Harry shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. His new shoes were un-comfortable. They pinched. As did the collar to his new robes, and the collar to the shirt he wore underneath. Despite his profound discomfort, he was in no mood to complain.

After having endured nearly four hours of being poked and prodded into outfit after outfit by dowdy old hags, he would have agreed to anything if it would get him out of the fitting room of Madam Malkin's. Snape hadn't been kidding about Harry getting a new wardrobe. The mounds of trousers, shirts, ties, shoes and under things had been massive enough, but the sheer number of robes that were purchased at the end of the day was astounding.

Harry had never worn any aside from his Hogwarts robes and what he'd worn to the Yule Ball, and it was completely beyond him to think of what on earth he was going to do with any of these new ones. Not wanting to receive another scornful look from his father, Harry hadn't asked. Not that he really cared by that point anyways. Clothes were clothes, after all.

Wiggling his toes once more in a last-ditch attempt at comfort, Harry stood beside his father on the doorstep to a massive stone structure-his Uncle Atticus' home. Snape Sr. cast one last warning glare at his son and pulled the bell.

Almost immediately the words, "_I'll get it!!_" were screeched from the interior, followed by the thumps of running feet.

The door was flung open by a small girl, about eight or nine, with her jet-black curls caught up in pig-tails. A grin stretched all the way across her flushed face.

"Hi Uncle Severus," she said, bouncing slightly and swinging on the door handle.

"Hello, Philom..." started Snape, but was cut off before he could finish.

"Is that _him_?" she demanded, staring rapturously at Harry, who was strangely intimidated by this tiny pig-tailed ball of energy.

Before she could be answered, footsteps sounded swiftly behind her, and three adults came into view.

"Philomena, _manners_," a tall, dark-haired woman chastised gently, drawing the girl away from the door, "this isn't your house, it's impolite to answer the door. And I'm sure we can wait a few moments for your uncle and cousin to get inside before you start your interrogation, hmmm?" she finished with a smile, which she turned to the two still on the doorstep.

"Yes," said a man at her side, "please come in, Severus, Harry...welcome."

Snape stepped inside, drawing Harry with him.

"Thank you, Atticus," he said, shaking the man's hand. "And it's wonderful to see you, Adara, as always." He leaned forward and kissed both of her cheeks.

He then looked behind them to another woman, who was peering over her husband's shoulder.

"Calliste..." he said through a strained smile, "how are you?"

Calliste managed somehow to look as if she'd just noticed him,

"Oh, hello, Severus," she breathed, a wide smile on her heavily painted face, "so nice of you to come. You really do need to get out of that ghastly castle more often...you look like death. Honestly, would a little sunshine really be so bad once and a while?" She finished, smiling pleasantly.

"It's wonderful to see you too," Snape answered through his teeth, then turned to Adara.

"And where is Oddyseus tonight? Not still at the Ministry, I hope?"

Adara smiled and rolled her eyes,

"No, not likely. Nothing short of another goblin revolution would keep him in the office past hours. He's just having a little talk with Myles...he'll be down in a minute."

Unlike Calliste's, this woman's smile was warm and genuine, and Harry couldn't help but smile back when she directed it at him.

"And who is this young man," she joked, giving her brother a little nudge.

"Ah...yes," said Severus, "this is my son Heroditus. Heroditus, these are your aunts Adara and Calliste, and your Uncle Atticus..._and_ your cousin Philomena," he added after the girl in question had not-so-subtly cleared her throat.

"It's _wonderful_ to welcome you to our family, Heroditus," gushed Calliste, as she seized Harry in a dramatic, floral scented embrace and planted several sticky kisses on his cheeks. "I just _know_ we're going to be _wonderful_ friends. Now," she continued, holding Harry firmly by the shoulders and looking him in the eye,

"I know that you must feel bound to be loyal to your father, but if _ever_ you need help with anything, don't be afraid to ask...he really can be quite silly sometimes, and he doesn't know what he's talking about half the time. And whatever you do, _don't_ let him dress you all in black. I'm always telling him he needs a little colour in his wardrobe, but he _is_ set in his ways..."

Harry risked a bewildered glance at his father, who was positively seething. Atticus saw the glance, and the look on his elder brother's face, and moved quickly forward. Gently nudging his wife aside, he shook Harry's hand.

"Welcome, Heroditus. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He seemed very stern; businesslike, perhaps. Harry wondered if there was an equivalent in the wizarding world to a Muggle stock-broker.

Adara cast an annoyed look at her brother as she turned to her new-found nephew, but smiled as warmly as ever when she looked at Harry.

"Hello, _Harry_," she stressed his name, making him smile back, "I'm _also_ very pleased to meet you, and I can't wait until we have a chance to get to know one another better, just you and I."

She smiled conspiratorially and leaned in to whisper in his ear as she hugged him,

"I must warn you, I'm nothing at _all _like my brothers...sorry if that disappoints you."

"Not at all," Harry grinned back, returning the hug full strength

The second her mother let go of Harry, Philomena had pounced, and had unleashed a torrent of questions that Harry had no time to answer before another one was asked. Thankfully, as he was struggling to come up with answers to seven questions at once, the final Uncle appeared and rescued him.

He came from behind Philomena and grabbed her, scooping her up into the air and temporarily distracting her from her victim, who was beginning to resemble a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

"Mena," he said, tossing her over his shoulder and tousling her hair, "quit dazzling the lad with your repartee and introduce me, would you? No fair you hogging the new family members...you need to share him with your old dad.

"Hello Heroditus," he said, shifting his wriggling daughter to allow him to shake hands, "or is it Harry? Or maybe Ditus? I'm your Uncle Oddyseus, but feel free to call me Odd. Everyone else does, among other more..._colourful_ names, but you're a child, so I shan't tell you what they are until you're older. Of course, you're likely to hear a few of them from your father eventually...How are things, Severus?"

"Never better," Severus answered, in the same voice he'd used earlier with Calliste.

"Glad to hear it," Odd answered, smiling as if his brother in law wasn't glaring daggers at him. He turned back to Harry and said, in a mock-serious voice, "On behalf of the Alexandros family, I formally welcome you, and charge you with a sacred mission. You must uphold the Snape family honor, comport yourself always with the utmost dignity, and try your level best to dislodge the giant potions text which has been rammed up your father's ar..._"_

"_Anyways_," interrupted Adara, who was glaring at her husband, "I think perhaps you'd like to meet the boys."

Harry was glad for the interruption. It gave him a chance to recover from the coughing fit which had come over him at his Uncle's last comment.

"Oh, dear," said Calliste, concern on her face, "are you alright Heroditus? Do you need anything? I hope your father hasn't gone and let you catch cold..."

"No, no, I'm fine..." Harry answered quickly, glancing nervously at his father and edging away from the scowling man.

Atticus again noticed the tension between father and son and came to the rescue.

"Castor's bedroom is on the second floor; Myles is with him. Philomena, would you be so kind as to show Heroditus the way?"

"Okay," came the response, muffled since the speaker was still hanging upside-down over her father's shoulder.

Harry was happy to follow his bouncing little escort out of the entrance hall, leaving the increasingly hostile group of adults.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As they approached Castor's bedroom, Harry could hear voices in what sounded like a quarrel.

"...was _I_ supposed to know it would do that?" came the first voice.

"Because it says so on the _package_, genius! '_Not for consumption by any non-human magical beings'_! Right there!" the second voice shouted back.

"Well it should be more specific!" the first boy was sounding indignant, "It should add, _'Or else your house-elf will grow five feet and develop a severe personality disorder.'_ I'm just supposed to _guess_ that?"

Harry looked at Philomena and raised a questioning eyebrow. She grinned,

"Myles wanted to see what would happen if one of Uncle Atticus' house-elves ate a handful of Pepper Imps from Honeyduke's." she giggled, "He was almost eight feet tall, and he went downstairs and told Uncle he was tired of taking his orders, and then he..." she paused and lowered her voice, grinning nervously, "he gave him the middle finger."

Harry gaped, then laughed out loud.

"You're _kidding _me! Did it wear off?"

"Yeah," she answered, grimacing slightly, "it only lasted a few minutes, and then there was this huge hiss of steam, and Derkins...that's the elf...sort of fizzled down to his normal size. He had this horrified look on his face, and he started crying, and bashing his head on the wall...it was pretty bad. Dad and Uncle Atticus were _really_ mad. Anyways, want to go in?"

She knocked vigorously on the door before he could answer, and pushed it open without waiting for an invitation.

Inside were two boys, who halted their conversation when Philomena burst in. Harry hung back, suddenly nervous again.

"How ya feeling, Myles?" the girl asked smugly, referring to her brother's earlier "talk" with their father.

"Just fine, _Phil_," answered a boy with a curly mop of jet-black hair that hung in his eyes and over his ears. "Thanks for asking. You know they made doors for a _reason_, right?"

"Hi kid," said the second boy, one with sandy hair and glasses, "what do you want? If you're wondering if you can borrow Montrose, the answer is still _no_!"

"No, I don't want to borrow your stupid snake, Castor. Uncle Severus is here with _Harry Potter_! Come in, Harry!" she gestured grandly in his direction and waved him into the room.

Feeling very self-conscious, Harry took a step inside and gave a feeble little wave.

"Hi."

For a moment nobody spoke, and then Myles said,

"Oh...my...gosh! Harry _Potter_? _The _Harry Potter? Omigosh, I don't know if I can handle this!" He gripped the side of the bed dramatically and clutched at his chest, gasping for breath. "Please...someone get me a paper bag...I think I'm hyperventilating. Mr. Potter, sir, would you _please_ give me an autograph? On my back, so I can get it tattooed later? My best friend Colin Creevy would just be _so _jealous...can I lick your boots?"

Harry must have looked so appalled that Castor couldn't help but laugh.

"He's joking mate! Philly's been going on about you coming for ages. I don't think she's quite grasped the fact that cousins can't get married."

Philomena turned bright red and glared fiercely at her cousin, whose chair suddenly tipped him onto the floor.

"I _hate_ you! She yelled, then stormed out of the door and slammed it behind her, leaving Harry alone with the two laughing boys.

Castor was able to talk first, and introduced himself from his new seat on the floor.

"Hi. As you probably gathered, I'm Castor, and that snorting idiot over there is Myles."

"'Lo," Myles managed to choke out, "sorry 'bout 't resist."

Harry still eyed him wearily.

"You aren't _really _a friend of Colin's, are you?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

This renewed Myles' snorting, prompting Castor to reach over and pat him (more punch him) in the back.

"Ow, _fuck_, Caz! No, I'm sorry to say I've never had the pleasure or privilege. Sorry, dear cousin, but I'm afraid I have better things to do than worship the ground you walk on. No offense."

"None taken," said Harry, greatly relieved. "You really had me worried for a second there, though...you know how he is..." he slid down the wall until he was sitting across from Castor on the floor.

"Oh, yeah," said Myles from his seat on the bed, "I'm in his year. Ravenclaw has Potions with Gryffindor." He grinned evilly, "Your dad doesn't like him too much...he caught him with a bunch of those "Potter Really Stinks" buttons in class last year, and he made him wear them all on his robes for the whole class. Creevy kept going on about the injustice of it all, said that your dad was committing defamation of character...he ended up getting a week's worth of detention."

"Nice!" was all Harry could think to say. These cousins seemed alright. This might work out after all.

"So," interrupted Castor, "enough of this Hogwarts talk. Not _all_ of us go there, remember."

"Yeah," said Harry, "Sna...my father mentioned that. Why don't you?"

"Because his mother's a psychopath," Myles answered.

"Fuck off," said Castor mildly, then shrugged. "Yeah, okay, she sort of is. I don't know...I think it might be partly to piss off your dad. They don't really get on all that well..."

Harry laughed, "Yeah, I kind of noticed that. Is there a reason behind that?"

"He thinks she's a vapid, self-centered drama queen, and she thinks he's an anal-retentive, greasy vampire-wannabe." Castor answered simply.

"Well," Harry blinked, "that sums it all up nicely, I should think."

Myles smiled pleasantly,

"So, you met all the parents? What did you think?"

"Well," he started carefully, not wanting to offend, "they all seem...very nice."

"_HA_!" Myles snorted, "You just heard Castor admit his mum's a psycho. Don't give us 'nice', what did you think? Honestly."

"Umm...well, honestly..." he looked at the boys to make sure they weren't going to attack him, then took a deep breath. "Like you said, Aunt Calliste seems kinda...like what you said she was, and Uncle Atticus is a little, umm, serious, I guess. Uncle Odd, well...he told me that my father has a potions text shoved up his arse."

The two cousins burst out laughing at that. Apparently it was one of the man's favourite jokes when Severus was around. Harry grinned and continued.

"And Aunt Adara is just...she seems really great, to be honest. She made me feel really happy and welcome." He blushed, "I sound like a girl."

"Yes you do." Castor said seriously.

"Completely," agreed Myles. "Want a Pepper Imp?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the two children disappeared up the stairs, the adults were left in un-comfortable silence. Ever tactful, Odysseus decided to bring up a topic of conversation.

"Awful handsome mistake you have there, Severus."

A chorus of objections broke out,

"For Merlin's sake..."

"_Really_ Odd!"

"Is that really appropriate..."

"Odd, that's _enough_!" snapped Adara, slapping her husband on the arm. "Look, why don't we all go sit down and have a drink. Don't you think that would be a good idea, Atticus?" The look on her face let her brother know that it was a _damned_ good idea, and he quickly led them all into a sitting room.

It angered Adara to no end that she was always forced to act as a mediator whenever her family got together. If Odd wasn't making some asinine comment or Calliste sending barbs at Severus, Adara was forced to make small talk to fill the icy silences made by Severus and Atticus' glowering.

How she alone of the Snape children had managed to develop any sort of social skills whatsoever was beyond her. It was a sad fact that her two younger brothers were completely incapable of carrying on a civil conversation. With a sigh, she brought a smile to her face and launched into her usual role.

"So, Severus, when did you go and collect Harry?" There. Conversation started.

"I had Borrible fetch him at five this morning," came the curt reply.

Adara felt her smile slide off of her face.

"Oh, Severus, you _didn't_. How could you? That awful creature? Surely you could have spared the time...the poor thing must have been absolutely shaken by it. You _did_ at least write first to tell Harry what was going to happen..." No answer. "Oh, _Severus_."

Severus bristled and sat up straighter in his seat.

"Not that I feel it is any of your business, Adara, but no, I did not. The boy is not an infant. I doubt that he was "traumatized" in any way."

"Au contraire," said Calliste from the settee where she sat, the folds of her robe arranged elegantly around her, "my dear Severus, how little you know about child rearing...it's shocking, really. Children are so incredibly delicate...that's why I cannot allow my dear Castor to be educated outside the home. Why, one week of your classes would, I'm sure, so damage the poor child's psyche that..."

Atticus looked up from where he was pouring himself and his seething brother another drink.

"I hardly think Castor is _that_ fragile, my dear. In fact, I was wondering if it might not be time to think about having him enrolled in Hogwarts..."

His wife sat up abruptly, completely disrupting the careful arrangement of her robes.

"_What_? A child of our Castor's sensibilities..."

"_Yes,_ a child of his sensibilities who is nonetheless capable of turning a house-elf of exemplary character into a hulking, eight-foot beast. I think he can handle a year or two of traditional education." Atticus was interrupted by the indignant screeching of his wife.

"_My Castor had nothing to do with that_!! It was _their_ little monster who..."

"Now see here," said Odysseus, starting to show a rare frown, "I think you're getting a little..."

"I don't doubt for a second," said Atticus, raising his voice to be heard, "that Castor at least egged Myles on. And furthermore..."

"_Severus_," shouted Adara, loud enough to be heard over the other shouting voices, "what did you do today with Harry? It looks like you went shopping."

Severus saw the desperate pleading on his sister's face and grudgingly played along.

"Yes, we went shopping. He was in desperate need of some new clothing."

"_And...?_" Adara looked about ready to tear her hair out.

"_And..._we met Chastity DesFois in Madame Malkin's."

"Oh, how lovely," said Calliste, her attention diverted for the moment, "I absolutely _adore_ Chastity. What did she have to say? She always has the most interesting news..."

Adara breathed a small sigh of relief. Crisis averted. Merlin, she needed a drink.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oi! You're seriously going to be escorting at the cotillion?" said Myles, eyes wide.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged, leaning his chair back on two legs, "I just found out...this woman met us in Madame Malkin's, and the next thing I knew, it'd been all arranged for me to go with her daughter...not much I could do, you know. Why? Aren't you two going?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

"No, not me, mate," said Myles, grinning and stretching theatrically, "tragically, I am deemed MUCH too immature to be considered an appropriate escort for a young lady of society. More's the pity..." He winked, and stuffed a handful of Bertie Bott's Beans into his mouth.

"Yes," said Castor, rolling his eyes, "that's what happens when you spell the backs of all the girls' robes to flip up in unison on the dance floor."

Harry whipped round to stare at his cousin, who was grinning through a mouthful of candy.

"Seriously? You did that? That's brilliant!"

Castor interrupted before Myles could launch into a play-by-play,

"Not nearly as brilliant as how fast he ran out of the ballroom after Uncle Odd caught on it was him." Now it was his turn to grin at Myles' scowl.

"Anyways," he continued, ducking a hail of beans, "I won't be going either...Mother is suspicious of all those cotillion mothers...she doesn't want them to get any ideas. She feels I'm too young to be betrothed..."

"Wait, _what_?" Harry cut in, righting his chair with a thud, "be_trothed_?"

"Oh, yeah," said Castor, "that's what a cotillion is, after all...a sort of...mating dance, if you will."

"_Mating dance!?!_" Harry screeched, leaping out of his chair.

"Yes, yes," put in Myles, "parents bring their children to try and make a match with the highest person on the social ladder as possible. Then, there's a series of negotiations between parents, a weighing of assets and, if all goes well, the union will be consummated before the night is over."

"Consum...ated...?" gasped Harry.

"Well," said Castor, "That's only in case of a successful negotiation. Sometimes, two girls will want the same boy, or vice versa, in which case there's a really brutal three-way, in which whoever "comes off" first is eliminated. This can really cause problems when it's the bloke who does, because then the two girls have to fulfill the marriage contract. Same for if it's two blokes and a girl who comes first..."

Harry narrowed his eyes and glared at his cousins, both of whom were trying desperately to keep their faces straight.

"You _gits_!" he growled, taking a menacing step forward, "You're having me on!"

"Not at all," said Myles, carefully edging toward the door, "We just wanted you to be prepared, being concerned cousins and all..."

"Yeah," said Castor, not even trying to hide his grin, "didn't want you to make a fool of yourself on the night you meet your future wife."

"Or husband..." finished Myles.

Harry advanced on the grinning boys. "Dead. Both of you bastards are _fucking_ dead!"

Laughing and whooping, the boys chased out of the room and down the stairs, not noticing the little curly-haired girl crouched beside the door.

They burst into the sitting room and ground to a halt before the startled and disapproving stares of their parents. Castor and Myles opened their mouths in unison to explain, but were cut off by a great howl from the direction of the kitchens, followed moments afterward by the familiar "pop" heralding the arrival of a house-elf, twisting his tea-towel nervously as he glanced at Atticus.

"Master, Terwilliger is being very sorry, but...but, Derkins is still feeling very badly, and is still punishing himself...He is dumping all of the hot soup for Master's supper on his head."

Atticus closed his eyes and put his hand to his face.

"Tell him I _order_ him to cease punishing himself. This has gone on long enough. And don't worry about the soup. I'm sure whatever other courses you've made will be excellent, even without the soup. Alright?"

Terwilliger looked very much relieved, and finally disappeared back to the kitchen after many a squealed thank-you.

Without further mishap, the entire family was soon seated at a long, elegant table and diner was served, with many apologies from the elves about the lack of soup. Everything went relatively smoothly. Small talk was exchanged that was at least less-than-hostile, and everyone enjoyed their meal. The three boys almost choked, however, when Philomena asked, as she handed her father the potatoes,

"Daddy, what's a "brutal three-way?""

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Okay. I hope this chapter was okay...I've been busy, so I'm sorry it took a while longer to get it posted. Let me know what you think of the Snape/Alexandros families.

Thank you so much to all my reviewers, you guys are absolutely great! You put me over 100, I love you!


	6. ch 6

**Chapter 6**

Disclaimer: "Steal" is such a dirty word....let's say I "commandeered" some of the characters and concepts from J.K. Rowling.

Braised fennel, Harry discovered, was decidedly _not_ a breathable substance. It may have been, in fact, the _least _breathable substance on earth, judging from the way it was lodged firmly in his throat. He dropped his fork and slapped a hand to his throat, then barely avoided planting his face in his chicken when both of his cousins whacked him on the back in perfect unison.

Once he could again breath, Harry risked a glance around the family. Every adult wore identical looks of horrified shock. The two cousins flanking him looked to be approaching panic. Philomena, however, seemed obliviously bewildered as she looked from face to face.

"Well, Daddy?" she asked again, "What _is_ a brutal three-way?"

Odysseus sat completely frozen, holding a dish of buttered peas and looking as if he would rather enter a dance competition in a field full of Devil's Snare than answer his daughter's question.

"Uhm...whe...erm....y-you see, luv, that's umm.....," his face suddenly brightened, and he blurted, "That's really a question for your mother. Later. Much later. And definitely not while we're at the table."

Relieved to have that dealt with, Odysseus turned back to his peas and ladled up a large serving, which he dumped neatly into his lap when his daughter asked,

"But _why, _daddy? Is it a very naughty thing to talk about? Is it like "coming off" or "fucking"? What do _they_ mean?"

Harry noticed that Castor was breathing oddly, and Myles had both hands clapped over his mouth to stop a scream from escaping. For his part, Harry wasn't breathing at all, and held the edge of the table in a painful grip.

Odysseus, along with the other adults, slowly turned their scandalized faces toward the three boys who sat paralyzed in their seats.

"Mena, luv," asked Odysseus in an eerily calm voice, "Where exactly did you hear those words?"

The little girl cast the quickest of glances at her brother and cousins, then looked down at her lap and shrugged, reaching up to twirl one of her curls. Harry heard Myles growl quietly beside him.

"I dunno," she mumbled, "I don't 'member."

"Philomena..." prompted her father, nudging her slightly.

"Only I don't wanna get anybody in twouble..." she lisped, lifting her head to send puppy-eyes at her father.

'Wait a minute,' thought Harry, 'when did she get that cute little lisp?' He glanced at Myles, who was now glaring overtly at his sister. On his other side, Castor was doing the same.

Philomena didn't even wait for prompting this time, before continuing, in the most sickeningly adorable voice imaginable,

"Castor an' Myles an' Harry was talkin'....I didn't understand ever'thin'....But I think they said some bad words...," she looked down again as tears started to form in her eyes, and rubbed at them with her hads, "I'm sowwy..."

As her father rushed to assure her she'd done nothing wrong, Philomena peeked at the boys through her fingers and shot them a grin so nasty it would do a gremlin proud. Harry gasped in shock. 'Why, that little...' He gaped at the little girl who had her father wrapped around her finger like putty.

"_Explain_!"

The three boys all jumped in their seats and turned to face a _very_ angry Atticus Snape, who held his utensils in a death grip and fixed his son and nephews with a glare that suggested he'd be using his fork and knife to carve the boys into small, bite-sized pieces.

The frantic babbling that ensued was completely incomprehensible. The boys might as well have been speaking Gobbledygook, for all they managed to explain. They were abruptly cut off.

"I think," said Severus, his voice its usual menacing calm, "that we had best perhaps call this evening to a close. Don't you agree, Atticus?"

"Yes," the younger Snape answered, his narrowed eyes un-moving from his son's face, "I think that may be for the best."

"Well then," Severus said, getting gracefully to his feet, "we shall be going. Thank you very much for dinner, Calliste, it was wonderful. Heroditus," he said smoothly, "would you like to thank our hosts for their hospitality?"

At the moment, Harry would have liked nothing more than to run screaming from the room and jump out the nearest window, but his survival instincts kicked in and instead he stammered,

"Uh, y-yes, thank you very much, Aunt Calliste...Uncle Atticus." His aunt still looked to be in complete shock, and his uncle actually had his teeth bared. Harry muttered hurried good-byes to his other family members, who were as well getting up to leave. Adara looked skeptically at her daughter, but Odysseus was still glowering at the little hoodlums responsible for compromising his little girl's innocence. Harry only had time for a quick "See you," to his cousins before he was ushered quickly and firmly out of the house.

Once on the step, Severus gripped his son painfully by the back of the neck and apparated them both back home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Harry winked into existence inside his father's study, he automatically tensed. His shoulders were hunched against the painful grip on his neck as he tried to shrink away from his father. He felt his father release him and move away, but Harry neither relaxed nor turned to face him. He braced himself for what he was sure was coming, thinking a string of _very _un-charitable thoughts about his father and young cousin.

"Well?" his father's voice came from behind him.

Harry blinked a few times, then turned slowly to peek behind him. To his great surprise, the man behind him did not look about to commit infanticide. Harry was confused.

"What?"

Severus scowled in annoyance,

"Well, what is your explanation for what transpired earlier?"

Harry merely looked at his father in absolute astonishment. Finally he said,

"Erm, you...you're going to let me explain?"

"Of course I am," snapped the man, his annoyance growing rapidly, "what makes you think differently? Whether or not I choose to accept your explanation depends on how pathetic it is."

"Right," said Harry, still feeling more than a little confused, "Well see, sir...Castor and Myles were sort of joking around about something, and they said...some things..."he looked at his father's scowl and continued in a rush, "But I swear, Philomena wasn't in the room! She'd left way before we talked about...that, and she must have been listening at the door or something, I _swear_!"

Harry eyed the dark man wearily. His eyes flicked to his wand hand, which was thankfully still empty. Nevertheless, he took a tiny step back, towards the door and safety. Severus noticed this and sneered.

"Stand still, boy! I am inclined to believe you; that ridiculous little lisp of Philomena's is painfully obvious. I cannot stand children who are purposefully cute." He spat the last word out as if it tasted foul.

Harry slumped in relief and let out a shaky breath, which he sucked right back in as his father renewed talking.

"_However_," he continued, "the subject matter that your cousin overheard is _highly_ inappropriate! You are now _my_ _son_, and I will _not_ have you speaking of such filthy matters, especially among people of quality. You are a Snape, and as such, you are expected to uphold the family name, comport yourself with the utmost dignity..."

'_And do your level best to dislodge the giant potions text that's been shoved up your father's arse._'

Harry heard the words his uncle had used to end the very same speech and, to his horror, he _giggled_!

Evidently, the same memory had been called to Severus' mind, as his eyes narrowed and his lip curled.

"_Indeed_," he snarled, "Tell me...exactly which of my niece's new vocabulary words was your contribution?"

"None! It was Myles and Castor..." he gulped as his father's scowl deepened, "No, really, they were the ones who said...and then all _I_ said was that they were fucking...oh, bugger!" his eyes bugged out and he nearly knocked himself unconscious as he clapped his hands over his mouth. "Oh, no..."

Wordlessly, but his eyes spelling out his rage very clearly, Severus reached into his robes and withdrew his wand, pointed it at his trembling son and hissed,

"_Oris purgo_!"

Harry was completely un-prepared for what happened. He had braced himself for a repeat of what had happened earlier, so it came as a very unexpected and unpleasant shock when his mouth was filled suddenly with slick, bitter soap.

"_Mmmmmmmmph!!" _he shouted through his closed mouth, as his face contorted in disgust. He looked around frantically for someplace to spit out the terrible liquid, but his efforts were cut short by his father's dryly amused voice.

"If you expectorate, the soap will return, and the spell will remain active for a longer period of time. Swallowing will have the same effect. I believe thirty minutes should suffice to convince you to be slightly more judicious with your choice of words in the future." He smirked at Harry's impotent sputtering. "You may return to your bedroom, where you shall remain until called tomorrow morning."

Trying his best to level a malevolent glare at his father, but finding it difficult while repressing his gag reflex, Harry spun on his heel and stormed to the door, viciously kicking the doorjamb on the way out. He stomped down the tower stairs and was thoroughly horrified to find the Devil Himself waiting to escort him to his room.

"Borrible hopes Young Master is in good health," the disgusting little elf asked, leering at Harry, obviously looking for signs of distress.

Harry merely glared at the elf and gestured for him to lead the way.

A wide grin cracked the evil little face in half,

"Oh, dear...Borrible fears that the cat has got Young Master's tongue. Oh, well, Borrible can talk, and Young Master can listen," he smiled and set out, at a leisurely pace, towards Harry's room.

"Borrible has been thinking about what to make for breakfast tomorrow morning, and he thought that Young Master would perhaps like a nice omelet, yes? A nice omelet with spinach, stewed liver, mint leaves, jalapeños and pickled herring. Does Young Master agree? Borrible doesn't hear any _disagreement_..."

Nearly fifteen minutes and many "accidental" wrong turns later, Borrible finally deposited Harry at the door to his bedroom. Harry had, by omission, agreed to having his breakfast menu for the next month consist of every un-appetizing combination of foods imaginable. He especially dreaded next Tuesday, which was "Eggs a la Catfood" day.

Just as Harry was stepping through the door, Borrible asked,

"If Young Master has no objections, may Borrible take the liberty of arranging Young Master's_ lunches_ in a similar fashion?"

Harry turned abruptly, and with no thought of the consequences, thrust his head out the door and spat a mouthful of saliva and magical soap directly into the wretched little beast's face. He had time for a bellowed,

"_NO YOU MAY NOT!!_" before the soap once again filled his mouth, and he slammed the door on a dripping and sudsy elf.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As it turned out, the consequence of spitting was for the punishment to start again right from the beginning, so it was another half hour before the soap disappeared from his mouth, leaving only a lot of saliva and a repulsive taste in his mouth. Harry rushed out of his room to the washroom, not caring that his father had ordered him to stay in his room until the next morning. If the man expected _that_ sort of obedience, he and his greasy hair could just go to hell!

Harry didn't bother with a glass, just turned the faucet on full and shoved his mouth underneath it, sucking great mouthfuls of water to try to banish the foul, lingering taste. Finally he ceased, admitting to himself that he would just have to endure it, and crossed went back to his room. When he entered, he noticed a large gray owl, perched on his bed and holding a letter.

Puzzled, Harry took it from the bird, which flew out an open window, after for some reason beating Harry about the head with his wings. Harry sat down and peered at the handwriting on the envelope. It was sloppy and ill-formed, and not at all something he recognized. Curiosity overcoming his weariness, and glad to have a distraction from his dish-pan tasting mouth, the slid a finger under the flap and ripped it open. He grinned in delight as he realized who it was from.

_Oi Harry!!_

_Hope this gets to you soon, and you get it when you're NOT with Uncle Sev(sorry if it does, mate!). Cobber's a pretty ace flyer, so you should get it soon. Sorry about what my little trollop of a sister did...that was definitely NOT ON! Don't worry, though, I know exactly 348 completely un-traceable ways of getting back at her, so she'll get hers! She always tries that wobbly-lip bit when she wants to get us in trouble, so Mum saw right through it...Dad's a bit thick when it comes to the sprog, though, so Mum had to come to my rescue! _

_Speaking of which, how are you doing? I hope your dad didn't buy all that rot from Phil. Mum was a bit worried after you two left. I think she's going to fire-call your dad to let him know what's what._

_I was actually going to fire-call you, but then I figured that might not be the best idea, considering how your dad looked a bit shirty when you left. It's not as if I could really talk to you anyhow...my mouth's a little "occupied" right now...you don't want to know..._

Harry smile in sympathy, and read on.

_So right, I just wanted to give you a proper goodbye, since our evening was so rudely cut short. (Honestly, how do our parents expect us to develop proper social behaviours when they keep ignoring etiquette?)_

_We'll see you soon, I'm sure._

_Cheers,_

_Myles._

_P.S. Castor's fine. When we left, Aunt Calliste was worrying him about "what those awful boys said to her baby."_

Harry grinned and lay back on the bed, kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks. Staring at the ceiling, be decided that he didn't hate it quite as much as he had earlier. Nasty little cousin aside, his family had turned out to be fairly decent. Quirky, and overly fond of soap, apparently, but not at all what he would have expected for a bunch of Snapes.

For one thing, not one of them looked as if their hair could be used to lubricate a rusted bicycle chain, and their noses all looked perfectly normal, allaying any fears Harry had had of developing his father's distinctive feature. Perhaps it was the result of an unfortunate accident? A miss-place engorgement charm? Or maybe he'd spilled some of the same potion that Hermione had on her teeth last year. With such pleasant thoughts in his head, Harry drifted off to sleep, ending the first day of his new life with a smile on his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nothing wipes a smile off of your face quicker than getting yelled at first thing in the morning about sleeping in a twenty-Gallion robe.

"_WHAT IN BLAZES IS WRONG WITH YOU, BOY_!"

Harry say bolt upright in bed, yelling,

"_I DIDN'T DO IT!! THE OWLS WERE PINK WHEN I GOT HERE!!" _

He blinked a few times, then saw the imposing figure of Severus Snape looming over his bed.

"_AAAAAAAAAAGH!_" he screamed, which seemed the only reasonable response at the time.

"Aaagh, indeed," his father replied dryly, "kindly get up! You Aunt will be here to collect you soon. Why aren't you ready?"

"What?" he asked. Mind games were not fun in the morning.

Severus glared. "The next time you answer one of my questions with '_what'_, I shall make you transcribe every word on the dictionary _except_ that one. Now, _why_ are you not dressed? You were told to be ready for her by 8:30."

"Wha..." he caught himself when he saw his father's nostrils flare, "I don't know what you mean. You just told me to stay in my room until I was called for breakfast."

"I mean what I had Borrible tell you last night after your Aunt fire-called me." Severus was rapidly losing patience, something that he never had in abundance to begin with.

"Borrible...Oh," Harry muttered, "I probably didn't hear him. He can sometimes speak very softly."

"Hmmmm." Said Severus. "Well, your Aunt Adara wishes to spend some time with you today. She thought to make a day of it-breakfast included, unless you'd rather decline on her offer?"

"_No_!"Harry cut in, thinking of Borrible's "special" omelet, "I'd love to spend some time with her...I'll get ready. Sorry about the clothes, sir," he muttered an apology, "It was an accident. It won't happen again."

Severus said nothing, just sneered down the length of his nose and swept from the room.

"Ponce," muttered Harry darkly, then set out to change.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry found his own way downstairs, thanks to the similarities in the castle's floor plan to that of Hogwarts. Thankfully, "mini Hogwarts" had no moving staircases, so it was harder to lose his way. He was determined to never again need Borrible to escort him.

He found himself in the dining room, where he also found his father, eating breakfast and reading _The Daily Prophet_. Unsure of what to do, Harry hovered by the door until Severus looked up in annoyance, and gestured curtly for him to have a seat.

Severus cast an appraising eye over his son's garb, and finding it at least satisfactory, returned to his paper. Harry placed his hands in his lap and sat in awkward silence, trying to avoid fidgeting. He snuck a glance at the front page of the paper.

_**DEMENTORS DEMENTED**_

_Article by Gladwick Nesterbaum_

_Reports of un-characteristic behaviour _

_from the spectral guardians of the _

_wizarding world's most notorious_

_prison, Azkaban, have steadily been _

_escaping the confines of the island fortress_

_and drifting ashore to the freedom of_

_the wizarding press. Authorities have yet to..._

Harry's reading was cut off when Severus snapped the paper down in response to a chiming sound.

"Ah, yes," he said, standing up, "That's the floo connection. Adara has arrived."

Harry followed him out to a sitting room, in which the woman in question stood, brushing lightly at her robes. She smiled at their approach, and Harry grinned back, the article, Snape, even his pinching shoes banished from his mind.

"Ready to go, Harry?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"Am I ever," he replied, stepping forward, sparing not even a backwards glance for his father, "Am I ever!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N:

I'm sooooooorrrrrrrryyyyyyy! I'm sorry this update took so long, but thank you all so much for hanging in there! Things have been busy, and they still are, but I PROMISE to have another update this weekend, so make up for the lateness and the shortness of this one! That said, thank you all so much for reviewing! You guys are awesome!

Like I said, thank you soooo much to all my reviewers, I appreciate every single one! For those of you who had specific questions of comments...

**Rit-Globe**- YOU GOT IT!!! You are the first person to recognize Atticus' name! You are awesome, and you get cookies! Also, yes, Montrose will be introduced in a future chapter. More cookies to anyone who knows where THAT name, or any others, for that matter, comes from.

**Meggplant**- yeah, Harry just doesn't "go" with Snape. And I hope this satiated your urge for Borrible abuse a bit. Heehee!

**Iimpu-** you called it. Phil is a devious, nasty little girl! Bwaaaahahahaaaaaaa!

**Abby**- I promise to never use the word "anyways" again. At least not any time soon, anyways... ;)

**Ciara-** Sev will most likely change his attitude towards Harry in class. He definitely won't be as antagonistic. As for Harry's potions skills...don't expect him to suddenly discover that he has a natural aptitude for it or anything.

**Xikum-** Sev keeps Borrible around because he's not rude to him. Seriously, if _you_ were a house elf, would _you_sass Sev? I don't think so!

Thanks to everyone who says they like my OCs. That means a lot!!

To those of you who are concerned about the amount of cussing in the story...Sorry if it offends you, but I am trying to write the dialogue as realistically as possible, and the truth is that 15 year old boys _do_ swear a lot. I'm just trying to be realistic.


	7. ch 7

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you've seen elsewhere, not even Severus Snape, a fact that makes me cry my pillow into a soggy mess every night. The real stuff belongs to JK "The Goddess" Rowling.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 7

Harry watched the woman seated across from him as she silently examined her menu. Her eyes were narrowed slightly as they followed her finger down a list of the Leaky Cauldron's breakfast choices, and she absently chewed a strand of hair that had found its way to the corner or her mouth. She glanced up and caught Harry's eye.

"See something you like, handsome?" she asked in a deep, husky voice, tilting her head to the side in a flirtatious manner.

Harry flushed and ducked his head behind his own menu, mortified beyond belief. To his surprise and relief, he heard his aunt let out and astonishingly undignified snort of laughter.

"I'm sorry, luv," she said as she coaxed her nephew out from behind his menu, "I didn't mean to make you so uncomfortable. You were just staring at me so intently, I couldn't resist!" She smiled at the fidgeting boy, and added, "Do you mind telling me what you find so interesting about your dowdy old aunt?"

"Dowdy?" Harry spluttered, "You're not dowdy, you're beautiful! I was just…" He trailed off, horrified at how idiotic he sounded. "I mean…I was just wondering how on earth you could possibly be related to someone as disgusting as…" Harry clapped a hand over his mouth, closed his eyes and groaned.

"I have _really _got to learn how to keep my mouth closed," he mumbled as he buried his face in his menu again.

Adara laughed and reached out, plucking the menu from Harry's hands. "And deprive the world of your delightful conversation? Never! Besides, Harry, I'm afraid that speaking before thinking is somewhat of a Snape family trait."

Seeing Harry's skeptically raised eyebrow, Adara grinned and explained, "Honestly! All of that forbidding, glowering stoicism that my brothers exhibit is cultivated, not natural! In their younger years, Severus and Atticus each got into their fair share of trouble thanks to their mouths, believe me!"

Harry shrugged, not quite ready to believe that his sneering, unpleasant, greasy father had ever been anything other than a sneering, unpleasant, greasy child.

Adara seemed to have read her nephew's mind. "Honestly, he can be quite engaging if you only talk to him…and he _does_ have a range of interests that are entirely exclusive of potions."

She was back to casually perusing her menu, but glanced over the edge, studying Harry's reaction to her words. Harry saw this, and narrowed his eyes.

"Is this what today is about?" he asked, feeling his ire rising, "You want to tell me about how great Sna…my _father_ is?" he spat out the word as if it tasted foul. "You want to tell me that beneath his vindictive, malicious…_asshole_ exterior hides a perfect, loving father who's just _dying_ to come out? That if I only give him a chance, he'll be helping me with my homework and coming to watch my quidditch practices? Because if that's what you think, you're dead wrong, and I _don't _want to hear it. If I wanted to hear lies, I could have made a lunch date with Dumbledore."

Harry sat fuming, glaring at his aunt, who sighed before tossing her menu aside.

"Look, Harry…I know better than almost anyone what my brother can be like…no, listen to me, please…" she said as Harry rolled his eyes in disgust, " I know what he's been like to you these past years at Hogwarts. I'm not going to lie to you…I've had to endure many a family dinner listening to one tirade or another about what a terrible child you were…that you were arrogant, had a total disregard for the rules, had no respect for authority…"

She shook her head and eyed the scowling boy with sympathy. "None of us believed it, of course. We all know Severus'…history with James Potter. It was obvious that this made him completely irrational when it came to you. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. Nobody can change the past, Harry…"

"But I can change the future, yes, yes, I know…" said Harry in mock sweetness, "and as soon as I can crack his shell and get to his gooey, sugar-floss centre…"

"_Harry!_," Adara interrupted, frowning slightly, "I'm not pretending that Severus is going to be a candidate for the _Daily Prophet's "Father of the Year" _competition anytime soon…or ever, in all likely hood," she added wryly, "but he really does have more to him than the evil, dungeon-dwelling Potions Master persona you've assigned him. I'd just like you to get to know him a little better, and allow him to do the same with you. You're only fourteen, Harry. The next five years will pass a little more pleasantly if you two can manage more than snide comments and glares."

Harry, though still slightly disgruntled at having been "tricked", had to grudgingly agree that she had a good point. He shrugged again, and picked up his discarded menu.

"Fine," he said, keeping his eyes away from his aunt's, "whatever. I don't care." He was aware that he was sulking, but he didn't care. He would play along with his aunt's plan, but it didn't mean he had to be pleasant about it.

Adara breathed a sigh of relief, and waved over a waiter. After placing their orders, the two sat in awkward silence. The wizard who had taken their orders had collected their menus, leaving them with nothing to hide behind. After a few moments of feigned interest in a knot in the table top, Harry looked up, propped his chin in his hand, and said,

"Let's get on with it, then. What sort of revelations do you have for me about my dear father?"

Adara scowled a bit at her nephew's obvious sarcasm, then reached inside her robe, withdrew a shallow, lidded bowl and placed it on the table between them. Harry glanced at the bowl, then at his aunt, eyebrows raised.

"It's a Penseive," Adara offered as an explanation. "It holds a person's memories."

"Really?" asked Harry, studying the object more closely, "I've never seen one so small…Dumbledore showed me his, once," he explained when he saw his aunt's puzzled expression.

"Ah, I see," said Adara, "I imagine Albus Dumbledore's _would_ be slightly more impressive than this one; this holds a smaller volume of memories, and is used sometimes to send only a few memories to someone else. Obviously, it travels more easily than the larger versions."

Harry nodded that he understood, and watched as his aunt removed the lid to reveal the familiar silvery substance. He was hesitant when the bowl was pushed toward him, but Adara smiled encouragingly.

"It works the same way as the Headmaster's. Just lean forward into the bowl, and you'll be inside my memories." Seeing Harry's reluctance, she smiled encouragingly. "I've put in a few memories of Severus…when he was younger. Nothing too personal, you understand…but I think it may help. Go on…it will be fine, I promise."

Harry was still not entirely sure he wanted to see anything even _remotely_ personal about the man, but his aunt's warm smile was too hard to resist. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and dove into the penseive, and into a different time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry found himself standing in a dark, stone-walled corridor that he recognized as being inside his father's manor. He looked around, marveling at how little had changed from whatever time he was in to the present. He was startled from his musings by a dark-haired girl of about twelve walking past him, swinging a flower from her hand and humming absently. The quick glance Harry got of her face was enough to tell him that this was Adara, and he swiftly fell in step behind her, knowing that whatever he was meant to see would happen around her.

They turned a corner, and Harry had to grab the wall to stop himself from bumping into his guide as she stopped abruptly. He knew that she wouldn't feel anything if he did, but the thought of passing like a ghost through the younger version of his aunt wasn't a pleasant one. Harry peered past Adara's shoulder. She was pressed against the wall, and was staring intently at a door that stood ajar a few feet from where she stood, concern etched on her face.

Crouched next to the door, his back to them, was a small black-haired boy who was clearly trying to over-hear what was being said inside the room. Adara strode forward and reached down to touch the boy on the collar, who spun around with a startled yelp. The face that looked up at them was that of a younger Atticus Snape, no more than eight or nine years old. His face showed clear signs that he had recently been crying, and tears welled up again as he looked into his sister's frowning face.

"Atticus!" she whispered fiercely, "What are you doing, listening at father's study? You know he'll be cross if he finds out you've been eavesdropping!"

Atticus hiccoughed, and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "He has Severus up there, and he's really mad. He's yelling a lot…" he trailed off into a sob, wadding his robe up in his hands and burying his face in it.

Adara moved to shush her brother, and glanced nervously through the doorway and up the stairs that lay behind. It was then that Harry recognized this as the entrance to the tower study. It made sense, he supposed, that generations of Snape patriarchs had used the same room as their private domain. Any audience held there automatically put the visitor in a disadvantaged position. Harry stepped closer along with the two Snape children, straining to hear the voices that traveled down the stairs.

"…brawling like some common Muggle! And in a house in which you were a guest, no less! I could have died of shame when Mrs. Black fire-called me. I have _never_ been so ashamed of you in my life, Severus!"

"But father, I swear, I didn't mean to, and Sirius was…" the voice was tearful and frantic, but was immediately cut off by the elder Snape.

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! I am tired of listening to your whining about how you were _teased_, or how the other boys _started it_. You are the heir of a major pureblood family, Severus, not some bare-footed Hogsmeade urchin, and it is about time you started to act the part! You have a year before you go to Hogwarts, and this behaviour had _better_ stop before then, or so help me…" the voice paused for a second, as the younger Severus choked out,

"I'm _sorry_, father, I'm _sorry_! I'll be better…"

"Oh, stop your crying, you sniveling little dunderhead! You're ten years old, not an infant! Over the desk, now! _NOW, _Severus!"

Adara's voice startled Harry, as she whispered to Atticus, white-faced,

"Come on…I don't think Severus would like it if he knew we were here for this…let's go down to the kitchens, Atty...I'll bet the house-elves have some delicious pasties. We can get some to sneak to Severus later, alright? How does that sound?"

Harry watched as Adara placed an arm around her brother's shoulders and led him away. As she passed down the corridor the scene around him blurred, but not before he heard the first sickening CRACK coming from the tower.

xxxxxxxxxx

Harry blinked as his surroundings came into focus, and nearly suffered heart-failure as a result. He was suspended at least forty feet in the air, without so much as a broom between himself and the rose bushes below. He thrashed about for a moment, flapping his arms like a bird, before he realized that he wasn't, in fact, about to plummet to his untimely, thorny, rose-scented death. Growing accustomed to this strange new sensation of un-assisted flying, Harry glanced about him in wonder.

It was fantastic! He felt completely weightless—how he imagined astronauts must feel in orbit around the earth. He twisted his body around to test out his mobility, then swung himself into a somersault, tucking his legs in tight to his body. He righted himself, grinning like an idiot, and narrowly missed having his head taken off by a figure speeding by on a broom.

Harry let out a yelp, then ducked as two more figures sped by, in hot pursuit of the first.

"Adara, pass it here!"

Harry lifted his face from where he was cradling it in his arms, and stared at the speaker. It was his father. The young boy had the prominent hooked nose that Harry knew so well, and the wind-whipped hair looked as greasy as usual. His face, however, was not at all how Harry remembered it. Instead of a scowl or sneer, his expression was one of excitement and joy, and the sallow skin was flushed from exertion.

Adara, the rider who had nearly decapitated Harry, pulled her broom into a quick turn and threw the quaffle she was holding at Severus, only to have it intercepted by the third rider, who swooped in at the last second and took off, laughing at the shocked look on his brother's face.

"Atticus! I'm going to _get_ you!" shouted Severus in mock fury as he chased after the other boy. Adara joined, and they were soon engaged in a friendly battle for possession of the ball. Harry noticed, with a casual eye, that none of the Snape children were excellent flyers, and they fumbled the ball more often than not. Despite their lack of flying expertise, it was plain from the broad grins and laughing voices that they loved the game.

Severus finally succeeded in wresting the Quaffle away from his siblings and waved his hand, gasping for breath, signaling a rest. The other two sat back on their brooms and paused to catch their breath.

After a few moments of contented silence, Atticus said,

"Are you going to play Quidditch next year, Severus?"

Severus wiped the sweat from his brow and scowled, staring at the red ball in his hands.

"I don't know…I was thinking of trying out for Chaser, maybe…but…no, I don't think so…" he fell silent, picking at the stitches in the red leather of the Quaffle.

"Oh, come on, Severus!" Atticus said eagerly, "I'll bet you could even be Seeker! You're the best flyer I know!"

The elder boy snorted, then pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. "Oh, am I indeed? Of the_ scores _of people you know, I'm the best? You've barely been off the manor grounds, Atty, you don't know anything." He finished bitterly.

"_Severus_!" admonished Adara, shooting a glare his way, "Don't be mean. Atticus was just being nice, there's no need to be like that!"

Severus' scowl only deepened. "Well, it's true! I'm _not_ a very good flyer, at least not good enough to make the team." He paused, and glanced at his brother, who had lost all of his earlier smile, "Sorry Atty…It would be great if I _did_ make the team, you know, but…well, second year is still really early to make a house team…hardly anybody gets picked before third or fourth." He finished in a rush, then flashed a quick grin at his siblings.

"I suppose anything is possible though, right? Who knows…maybe next year we'll _all_ make the team! Atty, you could be the youngest player in Hogwarts history! We could be the "Unstoppable Snape Line" and stomp those mincing Gryffindors into the dirt!"

Atticus' face lit up and he whooped enthusiastically, then took off to do some unsteady loops around a stand of nearby trees.

Severus watched him for a moment, his smile fading.

"You know, he's still going to think you're the greatest think on two legs even if you _never_ make the team, right Severus?" Adara spoke softly, keeping her eye on her youngest brother, wincing every time he turned too late and smacked his face on a branch…which was often.

"Yeah…" said Severus, shifting his gaze again to the Quaffle, "I know…It's just that, here, it's fine to pretend that we can actually play…to pretend that we aren't complete rubbish, but when he goes to Hogwarts in September…"he sighed, then looked up at his sister.

"If he shows up there and starts going on with all this nonsense about me being as good as Hamish MacFarlan, and how someday I'm going to be recruited to play for the Magpies…"Severus coloured and savagely gripped the ball as if it were something he could choke the life out of.

"I know, Sev…" Adara said, but was cut off.

"No, you _don't_ know!" Severus snapped, "All I need is for James _bloody_ Potter or…" His mouth twisted in distaste, "Sirius _Black_ to hear something like that! They'd have a jolly good time with the idea that _Snivellus_'s little brother thinks he's a quidditch star. I'm sure nothing would give them more pleasure than to disillusion him."

Adara moved a little closer on her broom, "You know, you could always go to professor Dumbledore…I'm sure he'd do something to make them stop…" she cut herself off at a scathing glare from her brother, "…or, I could maybe…" she stopped, then looked over to where Atticus had last been flying. "Oh, blast! He's gotten himself tangled again. Come on, we've got to go help him…I think there's a squirrel after him."

As Adara moved toward the trees, Severus muttered, perhaps to himself, "Everyone says James is going to make seeker this year…they had him out practicing with them on the pitch all last year…" He shook himself slightly, then steered his broom after his sister.

As the scene once again faded, Harry saw the youth let the Quaffle drop, and watched it fall to the ground.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry wished he had some time to consider what he'd seen, but before he could formulate any thoughts he found himself in yet another memory.

"…so then, Professor Crowley asked if there was anyone who could think of any reasons _why_ they shouldn't pass the law to restrict potions ingredients," Severus was talking animatedly, wildly gesticulating with his utensils, too into his discussion to eat.

Harry saw, to his disgust, that he was seated at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. Adara was to his right, and sitting directly opposite was Severus. This time he looked lankier; he was clearly in an awkward phase of adolescence, with the look of someone who'd recently had a growth spurt. Adara was eating calmly and smiling slightly at her brother as he rambled, as if bemused.

"Of course, _Potter_ made some sort of stupid comment about how some of the restricted ingredients were "crucial to the manufacture of various 'recreational substances'" that it would be inhuman to deprive the wizarding world of. All of the dunderheads in class laughed, of _course_. Professor Crowley took a point of, thank Merlin! You'd think OWLS weren't coming up, they way they all act."

Severus paused to spear a potato, then continued,

"Then _I _said that the reason they shouldn't restrict potions ingredients is that it seriously hampers potions research. How can researchers follow all available leads if they don't have access to some of the most crucial and fundamental ingredients? Did you know that they're moving to restrict Dragon's Blood? _Dragon's Blood, _for Merlin's sake! I mean, aside from the twelve main uses, you have to take into consideration its effects when used in dilutions of other substances. Take Nightshade, for example…"

Harry tuned out Severus' words and glanced around him. He saw nobody he recognized as his eyes swept the other tables. He wasn't sure who he was looking for until he heard a voice behind him, and he whipped around, as did the seventeen year-old Adara. Severus suddenly stopped talking.

"Honestly, Snivellus," said a dark-haired figure flanked by three other boys, "people are eating. Do you think they really want to hear your oily voice? I mean, it's bad enough they have to sit near enough to _see_ you." Sirius shuddered dramatically.

James casually leaned his elbow on Sirius' shoulder, arms crossed.

"Oh, I don't know, Pads, having a walking grease ball around might come in handy on occasion. Imagine…it's supper, the table's busy, you can't catch hold of the butter dish…All you need do is rub Sniv's head in your peas, and _voila_!"

"Genius idea, James! And it wouldn't stop there! Think of the applications! You could keep him round the house, for whenever you need to grease a hinge or something. Come on, Snivellus, be a sport…why don't you go bash your head into some doors. We'd be happy to help!" Sirius grinned and looked behind him, where an audience was gathering. His most enthusiastic supporter was a short, somewhat lumpy boy with dirty blonde hair who was howling with laughter as if the two boys had just told the most hilarious joke he'd ever heard.

Encouraged by Peter's laughter, and always ready to please a crowd, James and Sirius again rounded on Severus, who sat scowling at his plate. Before they could resume their taunting, however, Adara stood up gracefully and turned to face the boys.

"Hello, boys," she said, with sweetness so false it made Harry shudder. "Can we help with you with something?" Harry notices suddenly that she wore a Head Girl's badge.

Not intimidated in the least, Sirius' grin became even wider. "Well, now that you mention it, Adara, I _have _been having trouble sleeping lately. Remus thinks it might be due to too much pent-up energy, don't you Remy?" Behind him, Remus blushed and shuffled his feet. Harry noticed that his laughing at James and Sirius' jokes had seemed forced.

Sirius ran his hand through his hair and grinned wolfishly, "If you wanted to, you know, help me burn off some of that energy…the astronomy tower's usually empty just before my bedtime…"

Peter was again howling with mirth at Sirius' 'cleverness', and James was grinning like a mad idiot, along with most of the boys watching the scene.

Adara just smiled, and took a step toward the boys, motioning for Severus, who had risen angrily from his seat, wand drawn, to stay where he was.

"You're right, Sirius," she said, voice soft and low, "in fact, why not tonight? I think we'd have time in between the third and fourth year astronomy lessons, don't you think? I believe there's a one and a half minute window between classes. That'd be about long enough for you, don't you think?" She smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes at the suddenly red-faced Sirius, amidst howls and delighted "ooooooh!"s from the assembled students.

Remus stepped up to his fuming friends and tugged them toward the exit. "Come on mates…let's go."

Sirius shrugged off his hand and snarled at Adara, then shot Severus a death glare before slouching off. James headed after his friend, but not before a parting shot at Severus.

"See you later, _Snivellus_," he sneered, with an expression of such hatred that it scared Harry, "we'll talk about that hinge problem again later…when your _sister's_ not around."

"Oh, James?" said Adara, grinning innocently, "I almost forgot…At the last prefects' meeting, Lily Evans mentioned that some of her knickers were missing…she asked that you don't bother returning them once you're done wanking with them."

James flushed even redder than Sirius, and the two boys stormed out, followed by a confused Peter, and quietly amused Remus.

Harry stared at his aunt in awe as she re-took her seat on the bench. Where had _that_ come from? Harry wasn't the only one; Severus was looking at his sister as if he expected to see the glow of a halo around her head.

"You know they'll just have it in for me even worse now, you know…" he said in a slightly bemused tone.

"Sigh, I know, Sev, I'm sorry. I just couldn't resist. They are _so _arrogant—and when Black said that…how could I _not_ run with that? Do you forgive me?" Her face adopted such a pitiful expression that Severus actually laughed.

"Oh, goody!" said Adara, picking up her fork and starting again on her salad, "Now…what were you saying before? Something about potions research…"

Severus shook his head at his sister in amusement before continuing on his topic.

"Yes…well, basically I concluded by saying that without complete freedom of experimentation, we'd all be reduced to a bunch of hopped-up Muggles with chemistry sets, and Professor Crowly said that…"

The scene shifted, and Harry was pulled away from the table.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Harry was expecting another memory, and was unprepared to find himself once again sitting in the Leaky Cauldron. He blinked a few times, and it took him a few moments to realize that he was in the present, and that the vision of Adara sitting across from him was aware of his presence. Adara smiled at her disoriented nephew and gave him a little wave.

"Welcome back," she said. She pointed at the table in front of him. "Breakfast."

Harry looked down at the plate of Belgian waffles in front of him. He had been famished when he'd ordered, but now found he had no appetite. He picked up his fork and poked a bit at a strawberry, then looked up through his fringe at his aunt who was eating her omelet while keeping an eye on him.

"What…" he began, then fell silent. Adara did not answer, just let him quietly formulate his thoughts.

"That last one…" he continued finally, making tracks in his whipped cream with his fork, "was that…was that _normal_? Did that happen often, I mean?"

Adara took a sip of her tea, and regarded Harry over the rim of the cup. "I assume you're referring to that unpleasant little scene in the Great Hall?" at Harry's nod, still directed at his waffles, she continued. "Unfortunately, yes. Severus never really…got on with those boys. Even before Hogwarts, Sirius seemed to have some sort of irrational hatred of Severus. He always got a sort of perverse joy out of tormenting him. James, I don't know…"

Harry looked up then, and there must have been something desperate in his expression, because Adara heaved a deep sigh before continuing,

"I don't know about James…I think he may just have been following Sirius' lead. From what I could see, there was nothing one of them did that the other didn't. They were so alike…I suppose it was only natural for James to adopt Sirius' hatred as his own."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "It's just…hard…to think of my dad…I mean _James_ like that. I mean, after what happened a couple of weeks ago, I've sort of accepted that Sirius was, well, a bastard, but I hadn't thought about James being like that too…" He trailed off, and absently began chewing his lip. "I mean, I know that he's not my dad anymore…that he never really _was_ my dad, and I never really knew him, but still…"

Adara reached across the table and touched his hand, concern on her face. "I know it's hard, and nobody expects you to accept all of this right away…I'm sorry I showed you that, but you had to know exactly _why_ your connection to James had such an effect on Severus all those years. Yes, it was irrational, and yes, it was misplaced, but it was not entirely without basis. Even after Hogwarts, if they encountered one another in public…you could nearly _taste_ the hostility in the air! Once, more than a year after they graduated, I heard James call Severus _Snivellus_. My brother wasn't the only one incapable of letting go schoolboy rivalries, Harry."

Harry remembered back to the meeting in Dumbledore's office. "Sirius called him that name after the battle. He called him some names back, though…was it always like that? _Them_ tormenting _him_? I mean, were they always the ones at fault?"

Adara smiled wryly, "Well, not exactly. I'd like to say that my little brother was a completely innocent victim in all of this, but unfortunately that's not the case. He got pretty good at getting them in trouble, or playing pranks on them. Especially after he got better at potions." She paused for a moment, frowning,

"You have to remember, though, that they had the advantage of numbers, where Severus was for the most part alone."

"What," said Harry, smirking slightly, "didn't he have any _friends_?"

Adara sighed, "Severus has never been the most personable person, Harry, even when he was a boy. He wasn't necessarily _unfriendly_, he just liked his privacy, and he never had much patience for things he considered immature or a waste of time. This, combined with the fact that two of the most popular boys in his year and their little gang of lackeys _hated_ him, discouraged too many students from trying very hard to gain his friendship. You'd be surprised how many kids will go along with a bully to avoid trouble."

"Yeah," said Harry, thinking bitterly of Dudley and his gang, and how they'd prevented Harry from ever making any friends in school. "Kids can be stupid that way."

They ate in silence for a while, then Adara asked, "Do you have any more questions?"

Harry thought for a moment. Of _course _he had questions! He had a thousand questions, all buzzing around in his head, each one burning to be asked. The trouble was deciding which ones to ask. Harry decided to start with an easy one.

"Did any of you ever make the Quidditch team?"

Adara laughed, throwing her head back and tossing her hair. She looked at Harry, her black eyes sparkling.

"You were there, Harry! You saw us fly, what do _you _think?"

Harry grinned, blushing a little. "I didn't think so…No offense, but you lot…well, I don't think I'd even wish you on the _Slytherin_ Quidditch team! _Nobody _deserves even _one_ player that bad, let alone _three_!"

Adara feigned shock, clapping a hand to her breast as if scandalized, doing a fair impression of Calliste. "Well, _never_ in my _life_ have I _ever _been so insulted!" She laughed again, its infectious noise drawing a chuckle form Harry. "And by the way, it would've been only _two_ players on the team, not three. Atticus was in Ravenclaw. Once he got to Hogwarts, it became pretty clear that he was more of a studious type."

Harry grinned, "Well, sports _definitely_ weren't his "thing"." He smiled to himself, then continued, "I could tell you all really liked playing, though…Did you keep on with it? Even though you weren't on a real team?"

"Oh, yes!" answered Adara, "we always used to play over holiday…in fact," she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially, "We never really stopped. You should see if you can get your father on a broom. He's still not Magpies caliber, but 40 feet above the ground is about the only place I ever see Severus really smile any more."

Harry shrugged, doubtful that he would be spending any "quality time" with his father on a broomstick anytime soon. He took a bite of his waffle, then tilted his head to the side and looked at his aunt with suspicion.

"Why did you put that first one in? Don't you think that was a little…_personal_?" Harry wondered exactly how much Adara knew of what had gone on in the manor the other day, and whether she was trying to justify his father's actions.

Adara quirked a little smile, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"It was a little personal, yes…and I imagine you've already got an idea of why I included that particular memory. I don't know what exactly happened when you got home after dinner last night, Harry…or what's happened any other time since you arrived, but I can guess…I don't know how it is in the Muggle world, Harry, but in our world, at least in more traditional families, people don't see anything wrong with using corporal punishment on their children. For the most part, anyway," she added, twisting her mouth.

"I'm not saying that I approve of these methods myself, but I just wanted to attempt to explain why your father may or may not…?" she raised her eyebrows at Harry, who blushed and squirmed in his seat, "…have used such methods on you. He didn't do it out of some sadistic streak he has, or a particular desire to cause you pain. It's the way he was raised. It's the way we were all raised. All right?"

Harry nodded his understanding.

Adara smiled, "Anything else?" she asked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Harry was still curious about what he'd seen, but decided that he'd had just about all the serious conversation he could handle for the moment, and besides, his waffles were getting cold. He shook his head "no", and tucked into his meal. A few bites in, however, he paused and looked slyly at his aunt.

"How could you wash out Myles' mouth with soap, after what I heard you say to James and Sirius in that last memory? _Wanking_?"

Adara grinned in response, and sent her smirking nephew a sly wink. "That stays between you and I, agreed?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the day drew to a close, Harry was more content than he'd been in weeks. The rest of the day had been spent in a peaceful meandering from store to store in Diagon Alley. They had no specific itinerary, so they simply allowed themselves to be drawn into whichever shops or displays caught their eye or interest. They spent a relaxing hour browsing through the stacks of Flourish and Blott's, and stopped twice in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The first was as a simple treat, and the second was to "refuel" Harry after he'd been forced into "Chadwick's Charming Chambers", a home decorating store which turned out to be an ulterior motive for Adara's choice of locale.

"I know my brother," she'd said, as she dragged Harry into the store. "I'm sure that whichever room he's stuck you in is about as warm and inviting as a pit full of disgruntled Hinky-Punks. _We_," she said, rubbing her hands together, eyes glinting, "are going to remedy that."

For all his reluctance, Harry couldn't help but be swept up in her enthusiasm. This was his room they were talking about, after all. If he had the chance to make it just how he wanted, who was he to argue? Nearly three hours of endless debating about fabrics, paints, and things Harry didn't even know were necessary in a bedroom, Harry staggered out of the store behind his aunt in a daze, with a _very _happy Chadwick waving goodbye, promising to have their purchases sent to the manor straight away.

The rest of they day held no more surprises for Harry, except for one that came as a great shock to Harry, and amused Adara to no end.

While flipping through a stand of Wizarding Newspapers and magazines, Harry's eye fell casually on a copy of _Teen Witch Weekly_. He wouldn't have given it a second glance, had it not been for the headline, which flashed in pink and purple letters, "_The Boy Who Lived's Family Drama: How Will He Cope, and Who's Shoulder Will He Cry On? Could It Be YOURS?"_

"_What in bloody hell is this?"_ gasped Harry, his voice strangely high-pitched. Adara craned her neck to see what he was reading, and burst out laughing. The witch minding the stall gave them a stern look and returned to her knitting, watching them suspiciously over her needles.

Ignoring his aunt's laughter, Harry frantically flipped through the pages to the article about him.

"_**Harry WHO?"**_

_**Teen Witch Weekly** was shocked to learn, through confidential yet strongly reliable sources within the Ministry of Magic, that teen heart-breaker Harry Potter was no more. No, no harm has befallen our beloved boy wonder (in fact, eye-witness accounts report that he has **yet again** escaped a situation which placed him in mortal peril!)It seems that Harry Potter is indeed Heroditus Severus Snape, son of infamous Hogwarts potions Professor Severus Snape. While the details of how this came to be are not yet clear, rumours are flying, with theories suggesting everything from a secret love-affair to dark magic. Harry himself has yet to comment on these recent revelations, but **Teen Witch Weekly **has taken the issue to the street, to find out what **you** think. Here are some testimonials from young Harry fans:_

**_Melanie Widdershins, age 13_**

"_I don't think that this is true! It can't be! Harry does NOT look like Professor Snape! Not at ALL! I can't believe this!"_

_**Arista Medias, age 16**_

"_I don't care WHO his father is! He could be the son of the giant squid, for all I care! He's still HOT! I'd give him my shoulder anytime! I'd give him my entire body, for that matter!"_

_**Hermione Granger, 14**_

"_What are you talking about? That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! Where on earth are you getting your information? If this were true, Harry would have mentioned something to me! Haven't you people ever heard of fact checking your sources? There is such a thing as journalistic integrity, you know!"_

Harry looked up from the paper, his breath coming in short little gasps. What the hell was this about? _Heart-breaker? Beloved Boy-Wonder? _This was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever read! And how on earth had the press found out so fast? He was puzzled and pleased for a moment as he considered the fact that a sixteen year-old was willing to offer him her _entire body_ before the last "testimonial" sunk in.

"_Oh, bloody hell_!" he shrieked, startling his aunt.

"Harry," she admonished, frowning slightly, "I may not be as stern as your father, but I really don't approve of that sort of language…"

"Sorry," stammered Harry, "but…oh, Merlin, _no_! This is so bad! I let my friends find out about this from the _papers_? This is _not_ good! How could they know about this so fast? It only happened yesterday morning!" He looked at Adara, and was slightly annoyed to find her so amused.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, but this was to be expected! You're _always_ in those magazines about something or other! Philomena's bedroom is plastered with photos of you that she's torn from them."

"_Excuse me_?" asked Harry, eyes wide, "_Photographs?_ What on earth? I've never posed for any photographs, aside from the ones for the _Tri-Wizard Tournament_! When do these photos get taken?"

"Oh, any time you're out in public, I suppose," answered Adara, unconcerned, "There are always photographers about, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous, or something for the society pages…" she looked around, "I wouldn't be surprised if one had caught a picture or two of us today."

Harry spun around, eyes raking through the crowds, trying to find someone that looked like the might be a lurking photographer. "This is so _weird_," he muttered. "And this had been going on _how _long? Why didn't I know about this?"

"Well," said Adara, "you've been in the media all your life, really, but much more often after you started Hogwarts, and entered the Wizarding world. And as for why you didn't know…well, I suppose it's just because you aren't really very immersed in Wizarding culture." She shrugged, as if that explained everything and made it okay.

Harry, however, felt suddenly ill. "Aunt Adara? I think we should maybe go now…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Severus greeted his sister and son as they stepped through the floo connection from the Leaky Cauldron. He watched as the glassy-eyed boy mechanically thanked Adara and bade them both good evening, then excused himself to his room without being requested to do so. Severus stared after him for a moment, then raised a questioning eyebrow at his grinning sister, who said nothing, but handed him a magazine.

Frowning at her suspiciously, Severus glanced in distaste at the magazine in his hand. "_Teen Witch Weekly_? What on earth…" His eyes fell on the headline, and he fell silent. "Ah. I see. The boy has seen this, then? That's just what he needs—something else to swell his head even further…"

"Severus!" interrupted Adara, crossing her arms, "Stop that! I know what you always say, but…Severus, he had no idea! When he saw that magazine he was completely dumbfounded! He had no clue that he's been in the media so much…he thought that all that attention last year was due only to the Tournament!"

Severus scowled, "That is preposterous! How on earth could he not know? He'd have to be completely blind…"

"Think of it, Severus! He spent the first eleven years of his life not even knowing that the Wizarding World existed, and since then his time has been spent almost exclusively with his Muggle relatives or at Hogwarts. Unless one of the other children specifically showed him one of these magazines, where would he get one? He was completely shocked, and I think a little frightened, at the idea that he's been photographed without his knowledge. He's not the boy you thought he was, Severus."

As Adara bade her brother farewell and returned home, she smiled softly to herself and hummed absently. 'Not bad for the first day,' she thought. And Harry had said she didn't strike him as a Slytherin! Well, it took a true Slytherin to manipulate Severus Snape, and Adara had definitely planted a doubt in her brother's mind, and perhaps shifted his image of his son, if only slightly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Okay…so this chapter ended up waaaaaaaaay longer than I originally intended, but it just refused to end! I would love to end this chapter with a promise to update again in a few days…but we all know what happens when I do that! So, I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep, but I WILL promise that I will FOR SURE update waaaaaaay earlier than I did this time. Even I agree that 3 months is a ridiculously long time. Forgive me! I'll try to get back on my schedule of a chapter every 1-2 weeks.

To all of my wonderful reviewers: Thank-you! You guys blow me away! Your wonderful comments just light me up inside when I read them, and I appreciate them so much! Thanks also to all of the people who wrote, encouraging me to continue. Those meant so much, you can't even imagine! I can't thank you all individually, so this goes out to all of you.

Let me know what you thought of the chapter…the good, the bad, the annoying…let me have it!


	8. Chapter 8

swish and flick Disclaimiarmus!

Chapter 8

Severus hated mornings, especially mornings when the world had seen fit to give him a crick in his neck. He pushed his lanky body into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, where he sat for a moment, head in his hands.

With a noise half-way between a snarl and a whine, he stood and kicked around beneath his bed until he found his slippers. He walked through his chambers to his bathroom, where he shot a menacing glare at the mirror, as if daring it to comment on his rumpled appearance. The mirror remained mute, however, due to the silencing charm that Severus has thrown at it one morning in response to the mirror's suggestion that he perhaps try shaving his hair off completely, to solve the grease problem.

Despite the fact that nearly three years had passed without a single uttered syllable from the offending piece of furniture, Severus remained deeply distrustful of it. He was certain that whatever the mirror _wasn't_ saying to him was incredibly insulting.

Severus lingered in front of the mirror for a long moment, engaging in what had become of late a morning ritual. He stared intently at his reflection, turning his face slightly from side to side, as if searching for something. His hands grazed his chin, a considering look on his face, then strayed to his cheekbones. His expression softened for a moment, then hardened to its usual scowl as he let his hands drop with a shake of his head. Muttering inaudibly, Severus turned away from his reflection and prepared himself for the day.

Washed and dressed, he was about to leave his chambers when a flash of garish colour on the bureau caught his eye. The scowl on his face deepened when he realized what it was: the issue of _Teen Witch Weekly _that Adara had so generously left with him the night before. Severus harboured no illusions that this was due to any forgetfulness on his sister's part; he supposed his sister thought that she was being terribly _sneaky_, but Severus knew very well when he was being manipulated.

Sighing in annoyance, Severus did what was expected of him: he read the magazine. He went through the motions of reading it, anyways. It was all he could force himself to do, due to the abysmal quality and the astounding triteness of the material. His fingers itched for a quill, to mark out in glaring red the literally scores of errors that were present in the text.

He did, however, manage to read the article on his son in its entirety. He felt the familiar bile rising in his throat when he read the usual gushing drivel about the "_boy wonder_", but it receded as he instead became wryly amused. So the boy was a "_heart-throb_", was he? Severus' smirk grew to a nasty grin as he read Arista Medias' statement that she would offer her "entire body" to Harry, should he ever need her. Severus knew the girl: a six foot tall, lumbering Amazon woman in sixth year who could likely snap the boy in half. The Granger girl's comments made Severus raise his eyebrows slightly. So the boy had told his friends nothing of his new situation…that was interesting.

After quickly scanning the remaining pages for anything else connected to the boy, Severus tossed the magazine aside. He frowned slightly, wondering if Adara's account of the boy's reaction to the article had been accurate. Cursing himself for allowing his sister to make him second-guess himself, Severus left his chambers and swept down the corridor, heading for breakfast.

He moved through the halls in his usual brooding stride, glaring at nothing, until he turned a corner and his posture suddenly changed with an almost audible _snap_. He squared his shoulders and made his spine ramrod straight, while his face adopted a neutral expression. A dark figure looked up from where he was seated in an imposing throne-like chair, tapping his leg lightly and repeatedly with the elegant cane he held in his hands. The figure's eyes locked on Severus and drilled into him, following him as he passed. Severus could feel the eyes of his father's portrait on him, and he felt his pulse quicken. With practiced restraint, Severus kept his pace steady, resisting the fierce urge to break into a run.

Only when he had passed out of his father's sight did Severus allow himself to let out the breath he'd been holding. He stopped a moment and closed his eyes, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. He put a hand to his brow, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated there despite the relative chill of the manor. He silently cursed himself, as he did every morning, that he could still become so weak around a mere image of his father. As he approached the dining room doors, Severus schooled his features as best he could, for the first time deeply unsure of how to approach the person waiting within.

Flinging the doors open with his usual dramatic flair, Severus was met with the neat, if tired, image of his son, sitting erectly in his chair. The boy stood abruptly at Severus' appearance and offered him a "Good morning, sir," before retaking his seat. The elder Snape was taken aback, but effected not to as he merely nodded at his son and turned silently to his breakfast. He noticed that Harry was merely making a show of eating the vile concoction of Merlin-knows-what that sat before him. _Typical, _thought Severus, _the boy makes a special request and then refuses to eat it. Well, he'll not get anything else!_ The pair continued to eat (or pretend to eat) in silence until they were interrupted by the arrival of the post owls, which were rather greater in number than usual.

Harry only briefly looked up. He rarely received anything, and was certainly not expecting to today. It came as a great surprise to both of them, therefore, when several bypassed the expectant arms of Severus and deposited their burdens at Harry's place. Harry was startled, and looked uncertainly at his father, who simply turned to his own post with a spare glance at the owl-besieged boy. Shrugging, Harry shoved his plate of cold, untouched "Spinach and Artichoke Muesli" aside and began sifting through the impressive pile of letters, all addressed to "Harry Snape," causing him to shudder slightly. The first few correspondents were unknown to him, but halfway through the pile he saw something that made the blood in his newly-aristocratic veins freeze.

"Oh, no, please no…," whispered the ashen-faced boy as he lifted the bright crimson envelope and held it gingerly, disbelievingly in his shaking hands. In a familiar untidy scrawl, with strokes so fierce that the quill had carved grooves into the red stationary, was written, "**_To the Right Honourable Heroditus Severus SNAPE_**." The writer had managed to snap his quill as he viciously underlined the last word, leaving a jarring smear of black ink.

Harry's fingers twitched to the seal on the envelope, then he changed his mind and set it back down, before once more picking it up. He was still trying to decide what to do with it when the fury contained within the howler burst forth of its own accord and unleashed itself on the Snape household.

"**_You insufferable, great manky ass! What the bloody effing hell is wrong with you? And don't even try to tell me it's not true, you lying tit, because it's in every single bloody newspaper and magazine, and my DAD even told me he heard it at the office. What is it then? You're so busy in your new swanked-up life that you can't let your best mate know that you're not even…you're not even YOU anymore? You must think yourself a right jammy bastard now…got yourself all decked out in snotty new togs yet, or have you sent your servants out to do it? I bet your FATHER could spare you a few for the afternoon, couldn't he? I can't believe you, Har…SNAPE! Not that you'll probably even CARE, but you can consider our friendship officially binned. It's over. Hope you're really chuffed. Bastard!"_**

As the last screamed words rang out, the howler violently burst into flames, causing Harry to yelp and jump back. The explosion seemed more violent than usual and Harry's hand flew to his mouth, where he sucked at a seared finger, his eyes watering in shock.

Severus was sitting rigidly in his seat, staring at the stricken image of his son. The boy looked completely devastated and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen him. He just sat there, nursing his wound, staring at the smoldering remains of the missive from which the voice of Ronald Weasley had vilified him and denounced his friendship and association. Severus had never particularly cared for the Weasley boy, but then again, he had never particularly cared for any of his students. Now, however, a strange and fierce feeling of intense dislike was welling up inside of him. How dare that disgusting, carroty little grub say such things? Severus' first instinct was to make a cutting remark about the traitorous little bastard, but a glance at Harry's face changed his mind.

Uncertainty was not a state of mind frequently visited by Severus Snape, and the fact that this boy had somehow or other managed to land him in it three times already this morning was deeply unsettling. Severus struggled for a moment, then stood up with an abruptness that startled Harry out of his stupor.

"Leave the rest of your post until later," he said imperiously, "I wish to show you something." He then turned on his heel, robes swirling, and led the confused boy from the room. 'Sweet Merlin's beard, what am I doing?'

'What in Merlin's balls is he doing?' Harry's thoughts echoed (more or less) those of his father. This question was enough to distract the boy from the distressing message for as long as it took to quit the dining chamber, but the dark thoughts resurfaced quickly and his shoulders returned to their dejected slump. Severus looked behind him and noticed. He scowled. 'Dramatic,' he thought before he caught himself. 'Ah, here we are,' he thought with satisfaction. He had brought them to a door in the same wing as Harry's bedroom.

"Come," he said, pushing the door open with a creak. Harry followed.

Inside the chamber was a narrow staircase, almost a ladder, leading up into the darkness. Severus immediately disappeared upward, and heard his son follow after a moment's hesitation. Severus muttered 'lumos' and was rewarded with the sight of a grimy trap door inches from his face. He shoved the trap open despite the protestations of the neglected hinges.

"Bloody elves, not keeping the place up," he grumbled as his hair was peppered with dust. He heaved himself up with as little damage to his pitch-black robes as possible, and turned in time to see his son spring lightly from the role to stare in renewed interest around him. Only slightly miffed by the youth's agility in comparison to himself, and somehow oddly pleased, Severus refrained from comment and muttered a spell.

Light from dozens of lamps sprang up about them, illuminating the space in which they stood. It was a vast buttressed attic, of proportions so large it was revealed to span the entire main house. In the far corners, shadows partly concealed entrances to towers and other unknown spaces. Severus unobtrusively watched Harry as he took stock of his surroundings. The boy was clearly intrigued by the dark, shadowy space, or rather with its contents. Everywhere around the two men were piled, in unsteady columns, an unimaginable variety of objects, varying from the mundane to the obviously magical. Crates and trunks by the score cached unknown treasures, while others were on display, shrouded in dust and cobwebs. Harry stared in wonder, oblivious of the scrutiny he was under.

Severus was not watching his son idly. Though he did have a purpose for bringing the boy here, it also provided the opportunity for an important test, to lay to rest any vestiges of doubt that still lingered in the far reaches of his mind. All magical people were naturally drawn to objects and areas of magic, but those born of ancient families found themselves drawn even more strongly to objects through which their magical lineage could be traced. Many such Snape family artifacts were housed in this attic. So, Severus watched his son.

The closer Harry had gotten to the trap-door, the less he had found himself able to dwell on Ron's letter. It was as if some external force were pressing its way into his head, trying to dominate his thoughts. It was a feeling that had been tickling the back of his mind since he had arrived at the manor, but only now had he become conscious of it. By the time he reached the opening he bounded through, eager to reach whatever it was that was calling him.

It was almost too much for him. Sensations were flooding his mind, competing with one another for recognition. He felt a fleeting moment of panic, before he un-creased his brow and stared in wonder, focusing on everything and nothing at once. His gaze sliced through the attic's clutter and grime to those objects that dominated his attention, as was their right: a clock, wrought of some multi-textured metal, who's hands spun around strange and elegant symbols; a book, so old its leather cover had all but become the dust that covered it, bound tightly by iron bands; a large earthen bowl, devoid of any decoration, but pulling Harry's gaze as intensely as anything else…These objects seemed endless. Harry had only enough time to register the presence of one before he was seized by another.

Severus watched this, knowing the feelings that his son must be experiencing, and felt a sudden rush of foreign emotion. His eyes suddenly locked with Harry's and he saw in them rapture unequal to anything someone of lesser birth could know. This was true magic-magic borne in the blood, in the very flesh and fabric of being. Severus knew that this moment alone was enough to prove that his son qualified for any legitimate claim of the miss-understood title of "Pure Blood." To some in their world, "Pure Blood" meant only that one had been born of two magical parents. Some extended the definition, requiring generations of un-interrupted magical ancestry. To the true magical elite, however, the true definition was very different. Though these families were in fact old, more accurately ancient, it was the _way_ in which their magic was passed on that set them apart from the common wizard.

The objects in the attic were the means by which the ancient families affected their status. Generations upon generations of Snapes had stood in this place, and another place before the manor was built, and another before that, and gazed upon these objects for the first time. In that moment, the magic in the objects melded with that in the witch or wizard, and the power of both were made one. Harry had not gained in magical power, and he did not automatically know the function of all the strange and wonderful things surrounding him, but he _could_. That he _could_ know these things was a fact he knew with such certainty that _could _became _would._ He was meant to use magic in a way that those of lesser birth could only fumble blindly at. His learning would be easy…natural…his Merlin-given _right_, as a Snape. Harry thought these things without a blink, without a flinch at how incredibly elitist he sounded. This was truth. He was home.

Severus held Harry's gaze a moment longer, basking in the reflected glory of the boy's joyful enlightenment, then nodded slightly and broke eye contact.

"This space is yours to explore, as your birthright. My only condition is that you exercise whatever caution and common sense you have in how you go about it. There are many objects hidden away in here that are very dangerous. If you have any doubts, bring them to my attention. Now, I have something specific I wish to…yes, what is it?"

Harry was more eager than he'd ever been, and he couldn't stop himself from interrupting to ask, "How can I do, I mean, what can I …I can't use magic outside of school!"

The boy's face was so painted with anxiety that it was nearly comical. Severus, however, looked on him in puzzled, poorly masked amusement. "I give you permission. It is as simple as that."

Harry nearly gasped in exasperation, "Yes, well I suppose _you'll_ just have to explain that to Mafalda Hopkirk, from the Improper Use of Magic Office when she sends me a letter telling me I'm expelled!"

Severus stared for a moment, then let a real, if slightly malicious, smile ooze onto his face. "Do you honestly think that _no _young witches and wizards use their wands away from the ever-watchful eyes of Hogwarts staff? Underage magic is completely indistinguishable from that of an adult. The only factor which makes it possible to detect underage magic is if it happens in a residence where no adult wizards live."

Harry thought for a second, then felt a tickle of indignation.

"You mean, the only students they _really_ monitor are Muggleborns! Well that's…I dunno, that's…racist…or something."

"I suppose that's a way to look at it, yes," said Severus, enjoying this immensely, "though I prefer to look more closely at the situation before I start shouting prejudice and preferential treatment up and down the Wizengammit. Think; students of magical parentage are not _supposed_ to use magic, but if they do, they will be with fully-trained witches and wizards who can take the situation in hand if something should happen. In the case of Muggleborns, however…" here he quirked an eyebrow, "suppose an over-ambitious young Muggleborn witch, undeniably intelligent and skilled but possessed of a tendency to over-extend herself, were to attempt a dangerous potion or spell in her Muggle parents' home, far from the aid of the magical community. Let us say she decided to brew up a batch of Polyjuice Potion and substituted a cat hair for the requisite human one. The resulting disaster would be beyond the coping skills of her parents, and help might not be able to be found immediately. Now, if this purely hypothetical incident were to occur at Hogwarts, or in the home of a skilled magical adult, the situation could be easily remedied. Understood?"

Harry understood. He understood both why the magical supervision was necessary and that Snape was an omnipresent, omniscient menace from whom he could never hope to hide anything of consequence. He coloured slightly and nodded, at which sign Severus turned toward a wavering stack of trunks. He examined them for a moment, then extricated one from the pile and levitated it to rest on a sheet-draped table. The lid sprang open at his touch and Severus smiled slightly when its contents were revealed. Curious, Harry leaned forward and peered inside.

The trunk held only one item…but _what_ an item it was! Twenty or so years ago, Severus would have counted this as his life's work—well, _one_ of his life's works, anyhow. In was, in plainest terms, an album. It was both physically and magically enormous—its insides had been expanded to house more material than would be otherwise possible. The album's cover was of burnished black leather, held closed with gleaming silver fastenings. Adorning the front was the image of a magpie, wings spread and ready to take flight. Harry reached forward and, when no hindering move was made, lifted the book from the trunk and placed it on the table. The book fell open with a satisfying 'thump,' and Harry leaned closer to the pages to try and see what…

"Quidditch!" exclaimed Harry in delight, "It's all quidditch stuff! Oh, wow, look at this! Is that…Sir, that's never you with the Magpies?"

To the very first page was affixed a moving black and white photograph of seven rain-soaked witches and wizards, all grinning from ear to ear despite their bedraggled states. One in the middle, a compact freckle-faced man, held a trophy aloft with one arm, the other slung around the neck of a black-haired, beak-nosed little boy, who was grinning at the people surrounding him in stupefied amazement. It was, in fact, a tiny version of Severus Snape.

Severus hesitated before answering Harry's question. He was beginning to wonder if this was all too personal, too soon. He really didn't know what he was meaning to accomplish by showing the boy this, after all; however, he finally said,

"Yes, that is me with the Montrose Magpies. It was the nineteen sixty-seven European Championship game against the Grodzisk Goblins of Poland. It was an amazing game…" Severus' eyes took on a slightly fevered look, and Harry felt sure he wasn't seeing a dingy attic in England. "The championship was set for the same weekend as my seventh birthday, and I had been moping all week because my father had told be he hadn't been able to procure tickets. The day of the event he walked into my room and tossed my cloak at me, then apparated us both to the stadium. Just me, not Adara or Atticus…I was alone with my father for the entire day, and it was fantastic…

"That was the second-last year Hamich MacFarlan was Magpies captain, before he retired to become Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and he was a phenomenal Chaser…he led a fantastic team that year as well. Of course, that was also the game that Josef Wronski, Seeker for the Goblins, debuted the 'Wronski Feint.'" Severus' eyes gleamed, and Harry leaned closer, absolutely enthralled.

"It was an hour in, absolutely no signs of life from the Snitch, when Wronski suddenly tore across the pitch until he was on a level with the Magpie's Seeker, Charlotte Peabody, and went into a sharp dive. Of course Peabody dove after him, and the next thing anybody knew, Peabody's head was buried in the ground and Wronski was back up in the air, looking for the Snitch as if nothing had happened. The stadium fairly erupted; nobody knew if what he'd done was legal or even possible without magic, but the official couldn't call anything on it. The Goblins spent so much time celebrating, however, that they completely forgot to try for any more goals or guard their own hoops. I don't think they really minded losing, however…the Goblins made Quidditch history that day." Severus shook himself slightly, bringing himself back from wherever he'd been.

He looked at the photograph and smiled again,

"After it was over, Father took me to meet the players; he was a friend of their manager, or he was collecting on a favour. I actually went into their dressing room and got all their autographs, and they let me touch the European Championship Cup. _And,_" he said with renewed glee, "Peabody gave me her broom when she found out it was my birthday. It was a Nimbus 1000…the 'Firebolt' of its time. Sixty-seven was its release year, and all of the professional players had them, but I'd never heard of another child who had one…I knew Lucius Malfoy didn't and he was already in Hogwarts and he got _anything_ he wanted…It was a wonderful day."

Harry waited for him to continue, and when he didn't said, "That's amazing. Is that when you started this album, sir?"

"Yes. Adara and my mother had been in on the secret and had the book waiting for me when I returned to the manor. Atticus apparently _had_ a present for me, but he was so upset when he learned he'd been excluded from my adventure that he destroyed it and wouldn't talk to me for days," Severus smiled ruefully. Harry continued scanning the photo, then asked eagerly,

"Is this the broom? The one you're holding? Do you still have it? Can I see it?"

Severus' face darkened and he looked away, back to his usual scowling expression, all traces of a smile erased.

"A few months after my birthday, my father caught me doing something he disapproved of. He made me watch him destroy the broom as punishment. He burned it in the fireplace in his office."

Silence once again reigned in the attic room. Harry didn't know what to say, and neither did Severus, who was feeling more and more as if this whole episode was a gigantic mistake. He suddenly became very cross, for reasons which were as unclear to him as they were to Harry.

"I haven't the time to stay up here gathering dust and indulging in sentimental pap. Do what you will, I must absent myself for several days. On my return, you shall be attending a rehearsal for the cotillion, on which subject I will brook no argument. In my absence, please do your best not to _ex_plode, _im_plode, or otherwise demolish my house. Or yourself," he added almost as an afterthought. Without another word or glance, he spun and disappeared back through the trapdoor. Harry was left alone, and was once again very, very confused.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carrying the weighty tome down the ladder-stairs and back to his bedroom was no small task for Harry. He found himself wishing he had his wand, and silently cursed the greasy, enigmatic tit for taunting him with the prospects of magical freedom with full knowledge that Borrible had his wand. Harry finally kicked open his door and was abashed to find his wand, along with his unopened post and a tray of juice, toast and fruit waiting on his desk. Harry fwumped the volume down at the foot of his bed, then attacked the food as only a fourteen year-old boy can. His hunger sated for at least the next half-hour, Harry's eyes again fell on the pile of letters next to the tray. Fearing the worst, he used the soggy core of a pear to poke through the envelopes, making sure there were no more Howlers laying in wait for him. The experience in the attic was wearing off, and his earlier feelings concerning Ron were resurfacing. Resolving to get the worst over with, Harry picked up the fist letter and tore it open.

_Dear Mr. H. Snape, _it began,

_I represent the marketing board at Witch Weekly. You were spotted in Diagon Alley yesterday by one of our talented, stealthy and of course completely ethical photographers. They were able to take several high-quality, tasteful photographs of you enjoying your time out, including one magnificent one in which you are perusing a copy of our very own subsidiary magazine, "Teen Witch Weekly." _

_Since you are obviously a fan of our publication, we are wondering if you could possibly consider entering into a lucrative promotion campaign with us. We are envisioning a special run of "Harry Hot Hot Hot!" magazines, as well as a few special appearances by you at events and functions. Do us, (and yourself!) a favour and try this line out for size: "When you've tired of the Snitch, grab a Teen Witch!" You'll notice we've snuck in a little innuendo there, to add a bit of that "bad boy" flavour there is about you. This is still a working slogan, of course, and nothing is ever set in stone, but nevertheless, we would love to do work with you. _

_Hopefully yours,_

_Brethylwynn Biddywump_

_Director of Sales and Public Affairs_

_Witch Weekly Holdings, Inc._

_P.S…We have sent you the first of a year's free subscription to Teen Witch Weekly, which is yours to keep no matter what your final decision is! _

Harry stared at the letter in disgust, then crumpled it up and flung it aside. He was struck with a sudden urge to wash his hands in lye. "When you've tired of the Snitch, grab a Teen Witch?" Saying the line out loud only made it worse, and he shuddered. The last thing he wanted was to be in any way connected or affiliated with that pre-pubescent, estrogen-soaked slander factory. Harry felt another violent shudder coming on, and reached for another letter to purge the horror from his mind.

_Dear Harry,_ it read,

_I'm you're biggest fan! and I have all you're pictures on my walls. i just wan to no if this wot I read is true. Because I have a lot of truoble beleiving this. Also if yuo're name is SNAPE now, all my Potter stuff is wronge and I neeed to bye more! Also do you have a girl friend? I will start at Hoggworts next year and I will try to be in Grifonder like you!_

_Love and a milyun kisses,_

_Elfrida Ethelred Burdock-Barkwith._

_(Vice-Under-Secretary, Harry Potter Fan Club, United Authority of Warrington Chapter)_

"Mad," whispered Harry, his hands inches away from clawing his eyes out of their sockets, "the whole world has gone stark, barking mad in the last two days." He reached for the next letter, and was horrified, disgusted and strangely fascinated to find more of the same in each of the next five letters. He got enthusiastic well-wishes and pledges of undying devotion from Maggie Smethylwick, Joscelind Ketteridge and Ignatia Pillywickle, a scathing, grammatically offensive tirade equating Harry with the antichrist from Dymphana Stump, and a confused love-note from Devlin Merton Sykes, a twelve year-old wizard who stated he was only writing on behalf of his friend, who was a girl, but lived in another country, who Harry wouldn't know. Devlin also requested a signed photograph of Harry made out to himself. Harry didn't know quite what to make of that last one. Actually, Harry knew _exactly_ what to make of it, but he refused to articulate it.

There was only one letter left, and Harry braced himself for another disturbing fan letter. He was momentarily relieved to find his name written in the familiar precise hand of his other, and perhaps now only, best friend, Hermione Granger. Harry drew a calming breath and tore through the seal.

_HARRY POTTER THIS IS JUST LIKE YOU! _

(Not an auspicious beginning, thought Harry)

_When are you ever going to learn that you don't have to be the silent little hero about everything? Honestly Harry, do you have no sense left in your Bludger-battered brain at all? What on God's green earth persuaded you to keep this to yourself? Ron and I, at least, could have handled it. We could have helped you through this! If I know you at all, and I can flatter myself that I DO, you've been spending the bulk of your time brooding about this, which given everything you've been through lately is the LAST thing you need! Honestly, I could just about hex everybody involved in this despicably deplorable debacle! _(Harry noticed that when she was upset, Hermione had a tendency to slip into alliteration) _I should say, what were they thinking? After the business in the graveyard, then the train station…teachers or no, I'd like to Bat-Bogey them all into next week and beyond! There. I'm sorry, Harry, I allowed myself to get a little carried away. It's just that the first I heard of all this was the other day when this beastly little hag of a woman questioned me in Fortescue's. I treated it like nothing then, of course, but I saw Ginny Weasley later, and she told me the news was all over the place, and that Ron was absolutely livid. Oh, Harry, Ginny said her family is all taking it well, but Ron's…well, you know Ron. He can be a bit blinkered when he gets into a mood, you know, and I'm rather afraid he's going to do something regrettable. I'll work on him, but please don't take anything you get from him too much to heart. In any case, I have to end this letter, but I'll write again soon…you WRITE ME as well, you great prat! (Joke!)_

_Love,_

_Hermione Granger_

_P.S…Heroditus Snape, eh? Well, I suppose it does have an element of class to it…_

Harry had drifted in a happy daze to his bed while reading Hermione's letter. Finally! A beacon of sanity and constancy in the fog that was his life at present. He resisted the sudden urge to kiss the letter, and resolved to compromise by holding it shmushed against his face so he could absorb its wonderfulness through his pores. A sort of textual osmosis, he mused, thoughts not completely coherent as he basked in the warm fuzzies that were engulfing him. Hermione was still his friend! A bit brassed at not being informed earlier, but she was not abandoning him! And she was right about Ron…he was forever getting damatically worked up about some petty thing or another.

Like the previous year during the tournament, when Harry had been entered into the Goblet of Fire through no fault of his own…Harry's train of thought ground to an abrupt halt. No fault of his own. It was never his fault. It wasn't his fault now, either. In fact, the present situation was about as far from being his fault as it could possibly get. Harry felt his face heating up, as he glowered in humiliated anger at the memory of the Howler. It had been filled with one undeserved insult after another. So _what_ if he hadn't rushed out to tell Ron the second he'd found out? He'd barely been able to deal with it himself, and he'd not exactly had an abundance of chances, now had he? And a growing suspicion in his mind was telling Harry that Ron wouldn't have reacted positively to this news no matter how he'd been informed. The screamed words from the crimson envelope were seared into Harry's mind, and he could remember with perfect accuracy that most of its content was an attack on Harry's new station in life, not on his neglect of communication.

Ron had always been jealous of Harry's wealth, Harry's fame, Harry's skills. How else could he be expected to act now that Harry was the heir or a prominent, wealthy pureblood family? Harry felt his growing anger and resentment and, recognizing them, swiftly repressed them, for once heeding Hermione's advice. He refused to jump into any hastily wrought decisions. In this, Heroditus Snape was resolved to be the bigger man than Ronald Weasley. He did, after all, have the greater pedigree, he thought with a smirk.

Harry carefully folded Hermione's letter and placed it in the pocket of his finely tailored trousers. He flipped onto his stomach, propped a pillow under his chest, and pulled the "Magpies" album toward him. He had almost an entire week to himself in this house, and between this book and the attic room, he was looking forward to it immensely. Letters and friendship troubles could wait. For now, he was faced with the greater task of reconciling the smiling, wriggling boy from nineteen sixty-seven with the emotionally constipated man that was his newly acquired father. Harry flicked his wand to summon himself another pear, propped his chin on his hand, and turned the page.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oooooookaaaaaaaaaaay. So, how about I do us all a favour and not make any excuses at all about why this took…ah….a little longer than expected. How about this: in your review, include a little story of your own creation explaining my absence. It can be anything…I got lost, fell into a coma, was captured by a marauding band of antelopes…you name it. Whichever one is best, I'll adopt as the official story and include in the next post.

Regarding the next chapter…THE COTILLION! Yup, that's right, and Harry's not going alone!

Regarding this chapter…meant mainly to show some of Severus and Harry's dynamic.

The Quidditch stuff is based on information from

_Quidditch Through the Ages_, by Kennilworthy Whisp. Check it out, it's a fun read.


End file.
